“Not to worry, I can fix it in a jiffy.” Shears and comb in hand, he deftly snipped the hair around her face. He painstakingly trimmed up, down, and across the bottom. When he finally stepped back, and she could finally turn and look in the mirror, she was thrilled.
“It’s beautiful.” The loose wisps that constantly fell in her eyes had been cut short, curling naturally into a soft frame around her forehead. He had woven a sort of crown around the back of her head and pinned a silk rose onto one side.
*
Jeremy O’Connell arrived at His Majesty’s Theatre and was surrounded by nervous actors. He quickly learned that Peg had attacked Elly, and almost burned down the boardinghouse. Eric Bates was with two policemen, so Jeremy leapt upstairs, three-at-a-time. He met the coppers on their way down. They confirmed what he already guessed. No one knew the whereabouts of Peg McCarthy.
The year before, Eric’s house had caught fire. Since he had been enjoying Peg’s sexual services, and forced her to have a back alley abortion, they suspected she had been to blame. Now, Eric feared a scandal. Jeremy feared a potential murderess was stalking his actors. He hurried into Eric’s office and shut the door. Trying to keep their voices low, the words, “…burn the sodding house down… bloody whore… out of here, now!” still echoed throughout the corridors.
Jeremy flung Eric’s door open and stomped into the hall. His face was flushed, his eyes blazing. He stopped and stared. Eugene the wig-master and Elly Fielding calmly sat on the upstairs landing. “Elly, are you all right?”
“Yes sir, I’m fine.” She came down to his level.
“You’ve cut some of your hair.” He took her chin in his hand and carefully turned her face from one side to the other.
Eugene admired his fingernails. “I had to trim it, it was singed. She reported for work in the wig-shop, God bless her, after all she’d been through.”
Jeremy bellowed at Eric, standing in the doorway. “Singed. Did you hear that?”
“Yes, I heard that.”
He studied Elly’s face. “Your right eyebrow is slightly singed, too.” Embarrassed, she looked at the floor.
“All right, I’ll deal with it.” Eric pointed at Elly. “You look after that girl. I’ll take care of the other.”
Jeremy scowled. “Hardly the same thing.” Eric went back inside and slammed the door.
Elly looked up shyly. “Please sir, who told you?”
“Everyone, actually.” She looked distressed and he stared down at her. “This isn’t something that should be kept quiet. Surely you don’t think anyone faults you in any way?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Yes sir, really.” She broke into a smile. “Thank you for your concern.”
He looked up. “Thank you, Eugene.” The wig-master posed a hand on his chest, and dipped into a half curtsy. “Miss Fielding, I will see you in class.”
A few minutes later Elly entered the rehearsal hall. She was rushed by people asking about Peg’s attack. The clock struck 1:00 and Jeremy entered, casually strolling to the front of the room. All conversation ceased as a dozen actors scattered like nervous pigeons perching in three rows of chairs, arranged as the audience. Jeremy looked over the assembly and someone whispered, “Bli’me, ‘e’s in a good mood.”
With a slight smile, Jeremy announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I feel secure in saying that ours is the finest acting ensemble in Britain today. I am very proud, and I thank you.” A dozen mouths fell open. “From my colleagues of many years…” He looked around the room, “Mr. Anderson, Miss Cushman, Mr. Moran, to the very newest of my young apprentices, you are a remarkable group of talented, industrious artists. I feel blessed to have you all in my company, at His Majesty’s Theatre.”
Someone started to applaud, and the whole room was quickly laughing, whistling, and clapping. As they quieted, he continued. “With luck, the fantastically talented Herbert Beerbohm Tree will extend his American tour, and we will be allowed to remain in his glorious edifice. If not," he raised both hands in a questioning gesture, "we will need to find a new theatre.”
“Now -- Miss Stewart informs me that I was less than friendly during rehearsals for The Scottish Play.” The actors broke into smiles and a few brave souls even laughed out loud. “In all likelihood, I will be no less unpleasant once we start rehearsals for The Tempest.” The response was serious groans. “Much to my discontent, Miss Stewart will not be playing Miranda. However, I will rely heavily upon her as my general assistant, dramatic coach, and possibly a calming influence for the star.”
The female baritone of elderly character actress Nancy Cushman boomed, “Hear! Hear!”
Other actors chuckled, and Jeremy bowed slightly. “Now, I have been watching understudy rehearsals for The Scottish Play and I am impressed.” He looked at Owen. “Mr. Freeman.”
He caught his breath. “Sir?”
“Your Macbeth is magnificent.”
He exhaled. “Thank you, sir.”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Rest assured, you will never go on.” This time the room exploded with laughter, and it took several minutes for everyone to settle down. Jeremy smiled and clapped his hands. “So ladies and gentlemen, to the business at hand. Mr. Moran, the list of scenes for today, if you please.” Donald’s impish face lit up under his bowl of thick gray hair. He stood to his full five-feet and handed Jeremy a slip of paper. “Very well. Who would like to begin?”
“Here, sir!” Lester shot up from the back row and Todd tried to pull him down. Lester grabbed his ear, whispering, “Get up you fool. Let’s do it while he’s in a good mood. You don’t want to follow Owen or Michael do you?” Lester pushed Todd from his chair, and over three other actors, toward the stage area.
Jeremy sat at a small table, down-stage-right. He read from the paper. “Two Gentlemen of Verona, Launce and Speed, all right gentlemen, if you please.”
Elly did not know this play, but from the first lines it was obviously one of Shakespeare’s silly servant scenes. The young men were doing well and the audience enjoyed them. Jeremy sat back, crossed his arms, and put a finger over his lips.
When the scene finished, he sat up. “All right. Gentlemen, take a seat.” Lester and Todd sat facing him. “Why do you suppose Shakespeare wrote these two characters?”
They looked at each other. Lester offered, “They give the audience needed information.”
“Yes, Mr. Reid, that is true, but even for Shakespeare, that information reaches the audience remarkably slowly. Any other ideas?”
Todd raised a very long, tentative finger. “Because they’re funny?”
“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. On the nose. They are supposed to be funny. Shakespeare has handed us two clowns. You have handed back prettily spoken, vapid words.”
Almost imperceptibly, the entire audience leaned back, and held its breath.
“This is Shakespeare, lads. Not the…” He clenched his jaw, fighting back an expletive, “… the Bible! Every word is not sacred. The two of you are natural clowns. I see you clowning backstage, in the pub, on the bloody street. Go! Start it again.”
This time, Lester smiled wickedly and snapped out his lines, teasing Todd with a letter. Frantic to get the letter, Todd used his height and long arms, grabbing for the letter around Lester’s short arms and round stomach. He put one large foot over the other, tripped himself, and fell on his face. The audience roared with laughter.
Jeremy stopped them. “Yes! Better! Bring it back next week. Who is next?”
“Here sir!” Owen and Rory stood up.
Jeremy checked his paper. “Romeo and Juliet, Mercutio and Romeo, Mr. Moran, you’re reading Benvolio?”
Donald smiled. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well, gentlemen.”
Elly had thought Jeremy’s critique of Lester and Todd was hard, until she saw the difference his few words had made. The moment Rory and Owen began, her heart beat faster. She believed Rory was loves
ick Romeo, but she was in love with Mercutio.
When they finished, Jeremy asked the actors to sit. “Mr. Cook. What is the name of this play?”
Rory hesitated, “Well… Romeo and Juliet, sir.”
“Mr. Freeman, what is the name of this play?”
Owen put his elbows on his knees. He started laughing, “Mercutio?”
Jeremy laughed full out and some of the others joined in. “Mr. Cook.”
“Sir.”
“You were absolutely believable. Your intentions were clear and simple and I can find no fault, except that you disappeared.” Rory flushed. His brow creased, and he watched Jeremy, memorizing every word. “Mr. Cook, the fault lies partially with Shakespeare, partly with Mr. Freeman, but largely with you. We can never know why The Bard chose to make a secondary character so dynamic. Not only is Mercutio more charming than Romeo, he also gets to die violently in a sword fight. When I was very young I toured as Romeo. The actor cast as Mercutio was more experienced than I, easily stole focus, and made my life hell. I learned a great deal, and Simon Camden has been one of my best friends ever since.”
Reverential murmurs came from the crowd. Owen asked, “Sir, is Mr. Camden still touring America?”
“I believe so.” Jeremy turned back to Rory. “Mr. Cook, as a junior-actor, you naturally defer to a senior-actor.” He pointed a finger. “Don’t do it. Not if you are the star. How do you feel about Mercutio’s taunting?” Rory shrugged, so Jeremy pointed to Lester. “How do you feel when Mr. Reid taunts you?”
Lester chuckled and Rory clenched his jaw. “I hate it.”
“With that in mind, gentlemen, please begin again.”
The scene was totally different. Rory took stage and challenged Owen with every line. Owen enjoyed the stronger opponent, was able to create more variety and excitement. Elly was amazed at the difference. The scene ended and the audience applauded.
Jeremy nodded his approval. “Good. Bring it back next week.”
Owen and Rory smiled at each other as they returned to their seats.
“Who is next?”
The booming bellow of Nancy Cushman rang out, “Come along Michael, let’s take our med’cin.” The audience knew this actress’s comic genius and chuckled in anticipation.
Three pleasant hours flew by. At 4:20 Jeremy said, “Time for one more monologue. Miss Fielding, if you please.”
Elly looked as if she were going to faint. Stumbling out of the back row, she staggered in front of the other actors, stared at Jeremy, and frantically blinked back nervous tears. She took a moment and looked into the imaginary afternoon sky. With Juliet’s words, she begged the sun to hurry across the sky, allow night to fall and bring her lover. Elly’s frustration with the never ending speech changed romantic longing into something different.
“Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging:…
When she recited, “And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:…” she looked shocked.
By the end of the monologue, Juliet’s words begged her lover to come quickly, but Elly’s expression commanded him to stay away. The confused audience applauded kindly. Elly sat stiffly in front of Jeremy, waiting for his critique.
He placed a finger over his lips. “Unusual interpretation, Miss Fielding.” For a moment their eyes met. Jeremy knew how confused Elly felt about her real lover, and how confused her Juliet felt about her pretend lover.
The clock struck 4:30. “Next week we will begin with Miss Fielding. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I will see some of you tonight, on stage. To the rest, I wish you a pleasant evening.” He made a slight bow and the class applauded.
That evening, Jeremy sat by the stove in his dressing-room. His door was half-open, allowing a soothing breeze to flutter through. His silk dressing-gown felt wonderfully soft, the tobacco in his long-stemmed pipe tasted sweet, and an entertaining novel made him smile. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was a newly published story for children. He knew it could become a wonderful play. He turned a page, glanced up, and saw Elly Fielding. The poor girl struggled into the quick change room under the weight of several heavy costumes. Her dreadful job was assigned to the newest apprentice of either gender. She hung the clothes and waited at the end of the hall.
Jeremy lightly called, “Do come in, Miss Fielding.” She looked as if her bones were melting, as she shuffled into his dressing-room. He offered her a chair.
“Thank you, sir. I hope I’m not intruding.” She sat down, exhausted. “You were very kind to me in class. I didn’t think that you would be.”
He blinked like a contented cat. “I was not kind. That is not my style.”
“Please help me.” Tears filled her eyes. “I was dreadful this afternoon. I am so embarrassed. I don’t know if you want to bother, but I want to learn so much. Please help me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she quickly wiped them away.
He closed the door and returned to his seat. His pipe had gone out but he continued to chew on it. “You were not dreadful. Quite the contrary. As I said, your interpretation was unusual. You used the present-theatrical-reality of your own, very real fears, and put them behind the words. I enjoyed watching you, which is more than I can say for everything that was presented.”
Her tears dried as she listened to his every word.
“You need a vocabulary of emotions you can draw on, like you would draw books off a shelf, and like a book, each emotion needs chapters, variations. You did not want Romeo to come.” He put his head back and laughed. “‘…and every tongue that speaks but Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence?’ You made ‘heavenly eloquence’ sound as if it were horse manure.” She cringed and he held up a hand. “It is all right. That was what Elly felt about Romeo …or more probably, Robert Dennison, at that moment.”
Confused and embarrassed, she stared at the floor.
He smiled fondly. “Now, I shall teach you how to access the appropriate emotion, at the appropriate time.” He touched his chest with the pipe stem. “That is my job.”
“Can you do that?” He glared and she panicked. “I don’t mean, ‘Can you do that?’ I know you can teach it, but am I clever enough to learn it?”
“Without question.”
“Truly?” She bit her lip. “When can we start?”
He laughed. “We can start right now if you don’t mind working while I make up.”
“Oh, yes, please! That would be wonderful.”
There was a knock on the door. “ ‘alf hour, Mr. O’Connell.”
“Thank you!” He turned to the mirror and put a towel around the neck of his dressing gown. With two fingers, he reached into a pot of greasepaint, took enough to fill the palm of his hand, rubbed it into a soft mush, and spread it over his face. “You must be clean with one set of feelings before you can move on to another. Why did you want Romeo to stay away?”
She looked at her hands and whispered, “I was afraid for Juliet. She doesn’t know what it’s going to be like.”
“What does she think it is going to be like?”
“She thinks it is going to be wonderful.”
“End of story.”
Elly looked shocked but said nothing.
Jeremy mechanically applied line and shading, creating an exaggerated version of himself. “What are you feeling now?”
“I’m angry.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not real, it’s not like that the first night… the way Shakespeare wrote it. He was a man, he didn’t know.” Jeremy calmly outlined his eyes with a charcoal stick and she shouted, “I’ve spoken with other women, it’s never like that the first time!”
“You’ve spoken with every other woman in the world?”
“Of course not! What a stupid question!” Shocked at her outburst, she put her hand over her mouth.
He smiled. “Then, dear girl, in the case of Juliet, we must assume that she is one of the few lucky ones.
” He turned to look at her. “She pays a high price for her one night of bliss.”
Elly swallowed a sob.
“Why are you so angry?”
“I don’t know.” She was almost crying.
There was a knock on the door. “Quarter hour, Mr. O’Connell!”
“Thank you! Ask my dresser to give me a minute.”
He took Elly’s hands, looked into her eyes, spoke slowly and softly. “Your first night was not like Juliet’s. But you will have a second and a third.” This time a whirlpool of tears filled her eyes, making her even more alluring and vulnerable. He laughed and shook his head. “You will have a hundred wonderful nights. Do not begrudge Juliet her one.” Giving her a moment to compose herself, he stood up and called, “All right, Jeffers!”
The dresser came in and stopped dead. With the exception of Katherine, he had never found a lady in his master’s room when the door was closed. Jeremy smiled to himself as Elly slipped from the room.
Chapter 12
Wednesday: December 23, 1903
“O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick.” Elly doubled over, collapsing on the backstage stairs. She curled into a ball, trying to ease the stabbing pain in her belly. That morning she had stuffed her under-drawers with rags, but they were not enough to absorb the blood gushing between her legs. Afraid of staining her skirt, she pulled it up around her waist, and braced herself on the hard wooden stairs. It was only 12:30, and none of the actors had arrived. In preparation for the matinee, she carried newly mended Macbeth costumes from the costume shop to the dressing rooms. They lay below her, in a mangled heap. Everything went white, then black.
She opened her eyes and lurched back in fright.
Peg McCarthy stood over her. “Dan worry. I ain’t gonna ‘urt y’. Y’ been ‘urt enough, by the look o’ yer.”
Elly sat up, horrified at the large red stain between her legs.
“‘oo made y’ do this, then? Can’t a been nobody ‘ere. Y’ ain’t been ‘ere long enough.” Elly was in a cold sweat, every fiber in her body screaming she should run away. She tried to stand and collapsed back down on the steps.
But From Thine Eyes: Scintillating historical drama set in an Edwardian English theatre (His Majesty's Theatre Book 2) Page 12
