Shadows of the Silver Screen

by Christopher Edge

  From his desk at the rear of the office, Mr Wigram cleared his throat.

  “Your contract is quite clear, Mr Maples,” he intoned, brandishing a sheaf of papers in his hand. The lawyer’s forehead creased as he peered at the page. “May I draw your attention to clause four: ‘If you act or behave in a way which could damage the reputation of Montgomery Flinch, The Penny Dreadful has the right to terminate the agreement forthwith and all fees paid to you thus far must be repaid immediately.’”

  Monty’s face fell at the thought of this financial blow.

  “But it’s a tour of the provinces,” he protested. “Nobody there will have even set eyes on Montgomery Flinch. I’ll use my own name – a pseudonym even – I just have to get back on the stage!”

  “It’s out of the question,” Penelope replied firmly. “There’s no way we can let you take such a risk.”

  His dark eyes flashing angrily, Monty threw his arms wide in exasperation.

  “Then I quit!”

  As the words left his lips, Penelope stared up at him in shock. Shaking his head, Mr Wigram sighed as he bent his silvery thatch over the contract again, searching for the severance clause.

  An eerie calm fell over the office. Penny and Monty glared at each other, both silently seething at this position they now found themselves in. Then the silence was broken by a knock on the door.

  For a second, nobody moved. The door knocker rapped again, twice in quick succession, and, jumping up from his desk, Alfie hurried to it. He opened the front door to reveal a man in a pinstripe suit standing on the doorstep, jauntily tapping his walking stick in time to the tune he was humming. Behind the man, a mouse-like woman peered from beneath her parasol, its white-laced fringe shading her plain features from the sun.

  “Can I help you, sir?” Alfie asked.

  The man leaned forward, peering around the door frame to inspect the office within. He was a tall and well-built man, just setting out on the journey into middle-age. His handsome suntanned features were framed by red-tinged whiskers, which gave his face a vulpine cast. Spotting Monty standing in the middle of the office, he turned back towards Alfie with a broad smile.

  “I’m here to see Montgomery Flinch,” he replied, his voice as smooth as his countenance. “I’ve come to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

  III

  Brushing past Alfie, the man strode into the office as though it was his own. His eyes darted around its interior, mentally photographing every element on display: the dusty bookshelves, the desks filled with scattered page proofs, typewriters and all the familiar accoutrements of the magazine trade, before he bounded up to Monty and grasped him by the hand.

  “Mr Flinch, what an honour to meet you at last,” he exclaimed, pumping Monty’s hand in a hearty handshake. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Edward Gold, the proprietor and president of the Alchemical Moving Picture Company. I’ve come here today to present to you a proposition that will transform your literary fame into cinematographic stardom.”

  From the doorway, the man’s companion had shuffled apologetically into the office, lowering her parasol to reveal a homely face framed by locks of dark-brown hair. The man glanced back and, snapping his fingers, gestured for the young woman to join them.

  “This is Miss Mottram, my secretary,” he continued, as the woman half curtsied in front of Monty. “She has in her possession the contracts I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up to show the seriousness with which I make this offer to you, Mr Flinch.”

  Miss Mottram fumbled at the catch to her leather valise, then drew out from the bag a hefty sheaf of papers. She thrust these into Monty’s hands with a simpering smile.

  Puzzled, Monty glanced down at the papers, his gaze almost immediately glazing over as he began to read the topmost page.

  Memorandum of Agreement made this fifth day of July 1900, between the Alchemical Moving Picture Company, 22 Cecil Court, Covent Garden, London, hereafter called the Producers, and Montgomery Flinch, care of “The Penny Dreadful”, 38 Bedford Street, The Strand, London, hereafter called the Author, whereby it is agreed that…

  “Ahem!”

  With a pointed cough, Mr Wigram rose from his chair at the rear of the office.

  “If I may interrupt,” he said with a frosty tone. “I am Mr Flinch’s legal representative, and as such, all enquiries of this nature should be directed to me. Mr Flinch is a very busy man and certainly has no time to speak to you today. If you care to leave your proposition with me, I will consider it in due course, but for now, sir, I must bid you good day.”

  With a tap of his cane, the filmmaker turned towards Wigram and fixed the lawyer with the full beam of his wolfish smile.

  “I would be delighted to set out my proposition to you all,” he announced. “I want the world to hear how I will put Montgomery Flinch’s name up in lights at the front of every cinematograph show. I am going to make him a moving-picture star.”

  Wigram’s brow furrowed, lending his features a pinched and disapproving air.

  “Mr Flinch is a serious writer,” he replied stonily. “Not some fairground performer. I would suggest that you take your proposal elsewhere. It is of no interest to us—”

  Raising his hand, Monty waved the elderly lawyer into silence. A strange gleam seemed to shine in the actor’s eyes. Sat behind her desk, Penelope looked on, powerless, almost holding her breath in fear of what Monty might say next. He’d told her that he’d quit. She prayed that he wouldn’t give Montgomery Flinch’s secret away.

  “Let’s not be too hasty, William,” Monty began, an intrigued smile spreading across his face. “You’ve got to admire the pluck of the fellow in coming here today. And besides, I could do with a diversion from my latest grim tale.” He turned back towards the filmmaker. “How exactly do you propose to make me a star of the silver screen, Mr Gold?”

  With a flourish, Gold unbuttoned his jacket; the sunlight slanting in through the high window putting him into the spotlight.

  “The Alchemical Moving Picture Company is one of the leading practitioners of the art of the cinematograph. Our moving picture shows have entranced audiences from Abbey Wood to the Uxbridge Fair.”

  As the filmmaker spoke, Miss Mottram stared up at him, her eyes wide in adoration.

  “But the times are changing,” Gold continued. “The crowds are starting to tire of the same old cinematographic shows – the films of tortoise races, donkey derbies and boxing bouts. The flickering scenes of everyday life no longer suffice. They are eager for more crafted forms of entertainment. Some have tried with feeble spectacles of terror, limp frights that go bump in the night. But the audience thirsts for more substantial fare. Stories of mystery, drama and suspense; a tale of truth that will hold them spellbound as they huddle in the dark.” The filmmaker fixed Monty with an unflinching stare. “Stories like yours, Mr Flinch.”

  Penny glanced across at Alfie. Her friend’s mouth gaped wide with excitement, already imagining the pages of The Penny Dreadful brought to life on the cinematograph screen. But an uncomfortable shiver ran down Penelope’s spine. She hadn’t worked so hard to write the stories of Montgomery Flinch just to see them turned into cheap entertainments. It was time to take control of this situation, before things got out of hand.

  “What exactly are you proposing?” she asked in a clipped tone.

  Gold glanced down at Penelope, as if noticing her for the first time. His eyes flicked over her face as if framing her for a close-up shot and, for a second, his expression froze. Then, with a forced smile, he replied.

  “Why to bring one of Montgomery Flinch’s finest fictions to the silver screen, of course. I propose to make a film of The Daughter of Darkness.”

  Penny was struck dumb by his reply. The Daughter of Darkness was one of the very first stories she had written under the pen name of Montgomery Flinch.

  Set amidst the wild moors of Devon, this tragic tale of murder, betrayal and revenge told the story of Alice Fotheringay, the only
daughter of the widowed Earl of Taversham. With her mother dead, Alice is kept almost prisoner by her father in the gilded cage of Taversham Hall, waited on by a retinue of servants. The earl’s fortune comes from the vast copper mines that lie under the sprawling lands of his ancestral estate. These mines are worked by local villagers; men, women and children alike, whom the earl rules over with a rare cruelty. One day, when Alice escapes from the manor house, she finds herself lost on the moors but is rescued by Oliver, a young boy who works down one of her father’s mines. To guide her home, Oliver gives Alice a present of a strangely carved stone he has unearthed from the depths of the mine, but when the earl discovers this, he flies into a rage and storms off to confront the boy. When Oliver is discovered dead in the mine the very next day, Alice knows her father is to blame. Pouring out her hatred, she stares into the heart of the stone and the darkness within creeps into her soul, filling her with a terrible power … the power to bring Oliver back. But when the dead return, they wreak a terrible revenge on those who have wronged them – as the Earl of Taversham discovers to his cost…

  When the tale was first published in the pages of The Penny Dreadful, the reviews had been somewhat sniffy. Whilst all showed admiration for the power of Montgomery Flinch’s prose, many reviewers had found the subject matter somewhat sensationalist. However the enthralled readers of The Penny Dreadful didn’t agree with their verdicts and the magazine’s sales had shot through the roof.

  As Penny now tried to order her thoughts about Mr Gold’s unexpected proposition, Monty was ready with his answer, his face flushed with excitement.

  “A wonderful idea!” he declared. “And would there be a part in this moving picture for me to display my own thespian talents? You may have noticed that my performances of dramatic readings from my stories have found favour with the public. I recently sold out five nights at the Royal Albert Hall!”

  “You must have been reading my mind, Mr Flinch,” Gold replied, half bowing in deference to the author’s quick thinking. “I wanted to offer you star billing: the part of the earl himself, no less. With the power of your performance, you will have the audience hanging on your every word, their eyes fixed to the screen as you portray the cruelty of this villain’s dastardly deeds.”

  “Wait a minute,” exclaimed Alfie, suddenly sitting up in his chair, “the cinematograph shows are silent. How will they hear what Monty – I mean Mr Flinch – says?”

  Turning to face the printer’s assistant, Mr Gold rapped his cane on the office floor before pointing it at Alfie like a wand.

  “The young gentleman is right,” he replied. “But trust me, Mr Flinch – I do not intend to make you stand in front of a camera holding up a board that spells out your script!”

  At this quip, his secretary laughed coquettishly, the shrill sound halfway between a squeak of a mouse and the hiss of an owl. Frowning momentarily, the filmmaker dropped his cane back to the floor before continuing his explanation.

  “At the Alchemical Moving Picture Company we have invented a new form of cinematograph. A camera that can record and project both picture and sound – the Véritéscope! This trailblazing innovation will transform our moving-picture shows and the stories we are able to tell.”

  He turned back to face Monty, a Messianic gleam in his eyes.

  “With this wondrous invention, I will take the cinematograph show out of the travelling fair and instead set up screens on every high street. Crowds will eagerly queue outside town halls, assembly rooms and variety theatres to see the marvels of sight and sound combined.”

  Gold glanced across at Wigram, who was still staring at him with suspicion.

  “Of course,” the filmmaker continued, “if you agree to this proposed adaptation, it will be to both our benefits. At your public readings, Mr Flinch, I have heard that you perform to as many as five thousand people in a single night. However, with the hundreds of prints I plan to make of this film, you can play to tens of thousands every night without ever leaving the comfort of your club as The Daughter of Darkness is exhibited across the country. And what’s more, the magnetic power of your performance will be captured for posterity to delight future generations, even after we are all dead and gone.”

  With this final appeal to Monty’s vanity and Wigram’s wallet, Gold brought his impassioned speech to a close.

  For a moment, the office fell silent; then Monty turned towards Penny with a wide-eyed expression of delight etched across his features.

  “What do you think, Penelope?” he boomed. “Want to see your old uncle’s stories shimmer across the silver screen? A capital plan, don’t you think?”

  As every face in the room turned towards her, Penny shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She stared back at Monty, spotting the mischievous twinkle in his eyes which told her that he had her trapped. There was no way she could say no without risking revealing the truth about Montgomery Flinch. Her gaze darted to the broad-shouldered figure of Mr Gold, the filmmaker leaning nonchalantly on his cane, his easy smile betraying the fact he thought this was a done deal.

  Penelope’s mind raced as she tried to think through a solution to this intractable situation. If this new-fangled Véritéscope was everything that Mr Gold claimed, then perhaps a film of The Daughter of Darkness could be of some benefit. It might help bring her tale to a whole new audience but, more importantly, it could keep Monty onside.

  As she looked up at Monty’s smug smile, a slow smile of her own crept across her lips. The wily actor might think he had her over a barrel, but Penny had him just where she wanted to. This cinematographic diversion was the perfect way to cast to one side all thoughts of him prancing across the stage in The Pirates of Penzance. Instead, Monty could satisfy his thespian desires on the screen in the role of the villainous earl.

  Smiling sweetly, Penelope finally nodded her head.

  “It certainly sounds like it,” she replied. Penny turned her head towards the filmmaker, her eyelashes quivering as she fixed him with an awestruck gaze. “We really must see this wondrous invention for ourselves.”

  IV

  “Are you sure that this is a good idea?”

  Wigram removed his top hat to wipe his brow with a handkerchief. The mid-morning sun was already roasting the pavement, and the elderly lawyer shifted uncomfortably beneath the mantle of his frock coat. A fresh bead of sweat was descending down the creases of his frown as he addressed Penelope again.

  “This cinematographic fancy is a most unwelcome distraction from our preparations for the August edition of The Penny Dreadful. We are already behind in our deadlines for commissioning this month’s illustrations.”

  Penny glanced up at her guardian, the delicate bloom of her features shaded from the sun beneath a broad parasol.

  “I promise to attend to the illustrations immediately on our return to the office,” she reassured him, “but this visit to the Alchemical Moving Picture Company is of importance too. A successful cinematographic adaptation of The Daughter of Darkness could bring yet more readers to The Penny Dreadful, whilst, as we’ve already discussed, this venture is proving to be a useful way of keeping Monty happy with his lot.”

  Her guardian glanced down at his fob watch again.

  “Speaking of Mr Maples,” he sniffed, “he’s late.”

  Penelope glanced up the narrow street. The walkway was lined with shop fronts, the signs hanging outside every doorway speaking of the trade that had made this street their home:

  Hepworth and Co. Camera Company, Optical Magic Lantern and Photographic Suppliers, Gaumont Film Studios, British Mutoscope and Biograph Company, The Kinematographic Club.

  This street was Cecil Court or, as the hansom cab-drivers now called it, Flicker Alley. Above the shop fronts, the grand Georgian buildings reached up for four more storeys, and behind each set of windows sat yet another cramped office belonging to one of this new breed of filmmakers, plotting to turn their cameras on the world. But outside on the pavement, Penny could only see a couple of s
cruffy delivery boys, sweating as they pushed their heavy barrows down the street. There was still no sign of Monty.

  Lowering her parasol, Penelope swept her long dark hair back from her face. Her pretty green eyes sparkled with certainty.

  “He’ll be here,” she replied confidently. “Monty’s very keen to see his name up in lights on the cinematograph screen.”

  “Humph.” Wigram peered at Penny with a pointed expression. “If I didn’t know you better, Penelope, I’d almost suspect that this was your motivation too.”

  Before Penny had a chance to respond, a shout from the direction of the Charing Cross Road turned both their heads.

  “Penelope! Mr Wigram!”

  Stepping down from a hansom cab, Monty was already hurrying towards them. His cheeks were flushed as his heavy frame bustled down the road, the tails of his morning coat swinging behind him.

  As Monty reached their side, he panted out an apology.

  “Terribly sorry for my late arrival,” he wheezed. “I’m afraid I was caught up at my club. My friend Seymour was in town last night and I simply had to make amends for the mix-up over my part in his production of The Pirates of Penzance.”

  Penelope pursed her lips.

  “I do hope you didn’t reveal the reason for your refusal. If anyone was to learn that—”

  Monty waved her concerns away.

  “This was Seymour’s first trip to London in years. He doesn’t take a newspaper or even a magazine, so he’s hardly going to connect me to Montgomery Flinch. Besides, he’s heading back to Hull tonight.” Puffing out his cheeks, the actor clapped his hands together. “Anyway, I’m here now.”

  Sighing in exasperation, Penelope turned away. She looked up at the number above the door tucked to the side of the nearest shop front. 22 Cecil Court. According to Mr Gold’s business card, this was the place where The Penny Dreadful would take its first steps into the world of film. Next to the door, a peeling nameplate listed the tenants whose offices lay within. Stepping towards this with Monty and Wigram in close attendance, Penelope’s eyes flicked down the list; one name stood out, its letters scribed in the freshest coat of gold paint.