Dead on Cue

by Deryn Lake

  EIGHT

  It was dress rehearsal night and all the cast had arrived early at the castle with the exception of Paul Silas who huffed in late saying that he had been held up at a business meeting. As ever, Gerry was rushing around with a loudhailer bellowing instructions at the lighting people who completely ignored him. They had been there all day and had been wonderfully looked after by Rufus’s housekeeper who had kept them supplied with teas and coffees and rounds of sandwiches at lunchtime. Gerry had also been in conference with the sound man but this conversation had been ‘sotto voce’ and as all the cast were busy getting into their costumes nobody had bothered about it. Eventually Gerry had produced a stopwatch and given the order to start from his position in the back row of the audience. The sound tape had come on and Rafael Devine’s wonderful voice had filled the auditorium.

  Paul Silas, who had just mounted his horse, was a few seconds late making his entrance but this in no way ruined the scene which Rufus, who had just slipped into a darkened corner to watch, found as moving and heart-stirring as had Nicholas. Eventually the opening spectacle went black. Then followed the next scene – the building of the castle.

  The third act was set in the year 1152 and contained the whole cast, dressed as servants and church officials and starring Sir Greville Beau de Grave – played by Mike Alexander – in trouble with the See of Canterbury. The pageant changed once more and this time to the most amazing battle scene. King John was besieging Fulke Castle. There were mounted riders everywhere and two figures fighting fiercely up on the battlements. Rufus, looking round briefly, noticed that Gerry had gone backstage. But the next second his full attention was back on the action as, with a terrible cry, a body came hurtling over the ramparts and crunched on to the ground below. He half-rose from his seat, thinking for a minute that it had been real, then relaxed as he took in that it was merely a theatrical effect, that it was a dummy that had hurtled to the ground before his eyes.

  In the dressing tent Nick was gallantly squeezing into his costume for the Elizabethan Fair scene. It had obviously been made for someone much shorter and he was having trouble getting his shoulders into the suit-of-lights.

  ‘Can I help?’ asked a voice beside him, and he turned to see Jonquil Charmwood smiling attractively.

  ‘If you could just do the buttons up at the back.’

  ‘I’ll try. Crikey, this must have been made for a midget.’

  ‘I hope I’m not putting on weight.’

  ‘No, you’ve got a good figure.’ Nick felt inordinately pleased. ‘It’s just that the last person to wear this must have been terribly short.’

  She heaved and his armpits stung with the strain as the last of the buttons were done up.

  ‘I feel like the hunchback of Notre Dame.’

  ‘Well, you don’t look like him. What about my rig out?’

  And she stepped into a bear costume and pulled the head over her face.

  ‘An improvement,’ said Nick.

  Neither of them were on in the next scene in which Edward, Prince of Wales – the future Edward II – visits Fulke Castle with his favourite and lover, Piers Gaveston. The vicar had wondered if this was perhaps a little too frank in view of the children who would undoubtedly be in the audience but had been reassured by Kasper that nowadays they knew everything and he was to think no more about it.

  The spectacle that followed was to be the highlight of the entire show – an Elizabethan Fair. The special features of this section were a pantomime horse and a dancing bear, lead by a busty gypsy girl – played by a member of the Odds with a frightfully strident accent but all the other necessary attributes – and her gypsy lover, the part taken by Barry Beardsley, the chiropodist, who had dark hair and looked rather dashing in the costume. Everyone was in it and there was to be dancing, pedlars selling tricks to high-born ladies and village girls, the jester cutting capers, and all rubbing shoulders with the cottars and villeins. In other words a riotous melange of music and colour. However, so far nobody had even caught a glimpse of the promised Casselbury Ring Men and Nick, for one, was getting worried.

  ‘Have you seen the morris dancers?’ he asked Jonquil.

  The bear shook its head. ‘No,’ said a muffled voice.

  ‘But they are on in the next scene.’

  ‘I know,’ came the distant reply.

  ‘Well, where are they?’

  The bear shook its head. ‘I haven’t a clue.’

  They were silenced by Barry who said, ‘Come along, dancing beauty,’ and took hold of the chain with which he was to lead Jonquil on.

  They all started to march up the slight incline towards the castle, listening to the voice of a lyric tenor singing, ‘Tricks for my lady, to please her haughty eye upon a summer’s day.’ Then came Rafael Devine’s commentary. ‘The year is sixteen hundred and Elizabeth the First is on the throne of England. Come, my people, and join the revelry of an Elizabethan Fair.’

  The lights came up in full glory and Nick, doing his best, bounded cheerfully on to the acting area, waving his jester’s stick and silently praying that his costume would not split. The recorded music rose to full crescendo and the rest of the cast burst on to the stage behind him.

  It was indeed a feast for the eye and Rufus, still sitting in his dark corner, smiled with enormous satisfaction to think that his ancestors might indeed have hosted such an event. He watched the pantomime horse capering around and felt sorry for the dancing bear who was raising its legs in a mock jig, while at the same time admiring the gypsy girl’s bust. Then suddenly there was a roll of drums that somehow did not seem to fit with the rest of the tape. He waited for Rafael Devine’s commentary but there was only silence. And then, with a cry of ‘Yeah, man!’ a dark figure erupted on to the scene and stood stock still for a second, as if awaiting applause, before breaking into a manic dance. Rufus could hardly believe his eyes. Ekaterina’s worst fears had been realized. At the very last minute the Wasp Man had sabotaged the show.

  Rufus sat transfixed, aware that he must do something but not sure what, as Gerry – in baseball cap and camouflage gear – gyrated like a wild thing in ecstasy, executing a hip-hop dance for all he was worth. But if Rufus was flummoxed, it was nothing as compared to the rest of the cast. Action ground to a halt as they stood and stared in horror. It was the ex-professional actress – or actor as she would have insisted on being called – Estelle, who saved the day.

  ‘Grand chain,’ she commanded in ringing tones, and taking Paul Silas by the hand swung him round and landed in front of Nick. He stared at her momentarily before he caught on that this was a mass protest and joined in by swinging to the gypsy girl, whose enormous embonpoint hit him on the chin as they swung round each other. In this way, alternate hands being offered to those nearest, the whole company charged into action and formed a circle round the frenetic dancer until the hip-hop music finally ground to a halt.

  ‘Stop the tape,’ Gerry bellowed at the sound man.

  ‘Yes, stop it indeed,’ echoed Paul Silas menacingly.

  ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ the Wasp Man said loudly. ‘What the hell did you mean by circling round me like that?’

  ‘And what the hell,’ asked Mike Alexander in a low and terrible voice, ‘did you mean by introducing your crappy dance into an Elizabethan Fair scene? Have you no sense of history, man?’

  ‘Sure I have,’ Gerry answered nonchalantly. ‘It was just that I thought your show could do with a bit of modernizing. I said that right from the start.’

  ‘But nobody agreed with you.’

  ‘Well, you should have made your point clearer at the time,’ Gerry said, and half turned away.

  There was an eruption in the crowd and Robin Green, dressed in baggy leggings and ill-fitting hose which could almost, at a distance, be taken for his usual brown shorts, rushed at Gerry and seized him by the neck. People gaped; the man was hysterical.

  ‘You bastard,’ he shouted, closing his grip on the Wasp Man�
�s throat, ‘how could you? How dare you interfere with that lovely script and beautiful concept of Ben Merryfield’s? I could strangle you. You beastly rat.’

  And he proceeded to do just that to the accompaniment of a loud shriek from Ivy Bagshot, who fainted in a heap at the feet of the bear. Jonquil whipped off the bear’s head and shouted at Nick, ‘Do something, for God’s sake. He really will do it, you know.’

  The vicar leapt forward in the company of Barry Beardsley who was manfully attempting to drag Robin off the Wasp Man. Paul Silas, meanwhile, had added his heavyweight skills in what appeared to be a judo hold on Mr Green’s lower ends. Nick, wondering if he was going to be any use at all, jumped headlong on the whole fighting crew and brought them crashing to the ground. Gerry got to his feet panting and poor spotty Oswald, the teenager who had joined the show in a desperate attempt to learn the skills of directing, hurried to his side.

  ‘Can I get you a glass of water, Mr Harlington?’

  ‘Get me a glass of vodka, more like. And pick up my cap for me.’

  The baseball headgear had fallen to the ground in the melee and Oswald, retrieving it, handed it to Gerry who rammed it firmly on his head.

  ‘I resign from your shitty show,’ he said. ‘I quit. I should never have joined you bunch of amateurs in the first place.’

  Paul Silas said, ‘I think we can manage perfectly well, thank you.’

  ‘Aw, fuck the lot of you,’ answered Gerry and marched off in the direction of the hill.

  There was a grim silence into which Oswald spoke in a whisper. ‘Can we really manage without him?’

  ‘Of course we can,’ answered the large blonde Annette.

  ‘Don’t you be so sure,’ came a distant voice. ‘Nobody gets the better of the Wasp Man.’

  To Nick, who found he had split the jester’s costume down the sides during the tussle, the words had a sinister ring. And, looking round, he discovered that he was not the only one thinking so.

  Barry Beardsley gave a shiver and said, ‘I hope that doesn’t mean he’s planning some awful sort of revenge.’

  ‘Of course it doesn’t,’ answered Estelle briskly. ‘The man’s all mouth and no trousers. I suggest that we continue with the dress rehearsal. Everyone in agreement?’

  There was a half-hearted answer of ‘yes’ and she turned to the sound man. ‘Would you mind deleting that last bit of tape?’

  ‘You mean you want it restored to the original?’

  ‘Yes, please. Now then everybody, let’s go on from where we were so arrogantly interrupted.’

  The very way that Gerry drove his car up the driveway leading to the moat sent alarm bells ringing in Ekaterina’s brain. Glancing at her watch she saw that he was back from the dress rehearsal extremely early and knew at once that something had gone terribly wrong. Having no wish to face her husband in this darkest of moods, she attempted a tactical withdrawal up the stairs. But from the hallway he shouted after her.

  ‘Come here, you bitch.’

  ‘No,’ Ekaterina answered haughtily.

  He ran up the stairs two at a time and caught up with her as she hurried towards the bedroom.

  ‘When I say wait, I mean it. Understand?’

  He caught her arm in a truly painful grip.

  ‘Gerry, let go of me. You’re hurting.’

  ‘Good. It’s your fault that I have to associate with that crew of amateur shit. If we lived like other couples do, with a joint cheque book, I would have my own studios in Hollywood by now. You’ve ruined my life, you evil grabbing cow.’

  ‘But it’s my money, Gerry.’

  For an answer he slapped her on the mouth so hard that she feared she might have lost a tooth. Then he turned on his heel and went downstairs to his rumpus room. Ekaterina ran into her bedroom where she picked up the telephone.

  Much to her surprise Rufus answered straight away. ‘Beaudegrave.’

  ‘Excuse me, Sir Rufus, for ringing you but Gerry has just entered the house in the fiercest of tempers. Did something go wrong at the dress rehearsal?’

  ‘I’ll say it did.’ And he proceeded to tell her that she had been quite right, that Gerry had interposed a hip-hop dance into the Elizabethan Fair scene.

  Ekaterina froze, imagining the full horror of what she was being told. ‘What did you do?’ she breathed eventually.

  ‘Nothing. The Odds were already having a go. One of them nearly strangled him. The last I saw of your husband was stalking off towards his car with that tragic boy Oswald running after him. Ekaterina was strangely quiet and Rufus added, ‘Don’t be too upset about it. I’m sure it’s all been sorted out.’

  Ekaterina made a strange gulping sound and Rufus realized that she was weeping.

  ‘Please, don’t disturb yourself, Mrs Harlington. It was nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Please don’t call me by that name any more, Sir Rufus. I am definitely divorcing my husband. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I am called Ekaterina and I beg you to use that from now on.’

  Her Russian accent was becoming more pronounced and Rufus could not help but smile. The fact was that she intrigued him.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘why not come round to the castle tomorrow evening and we can watch the show from the Tudor dining hall.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘I would like that very much.’

  ‘Good. I’ll expect you at about six. By the way, my youngest daughter has decided you are a Russian princess.’

  She laughed a little weakly. ‘Tell her thank you. See you tomorrow then.’

  ‘Yes. Goodbye.’

  He hung up and wondered why he had an odd sensation of foreboding.

  NINE

  Kasper’s last patient was suffering with an acute case of hypochondria and visited him virtually every week. But tonight he really could have done without her.

  ‘But Dr Rudniski I have such a sniffy cold and I am suffering terribly with a pain in my heart that seems to be there all the time. What shall I do?’

  He gave her a charming smile, then said, ‘I’m afraid I cannot help you with the cold. Just take lots of vitamin C and inhale if it should pass on to your chest. As for your heart, I shall write to Pemley Hospital and ask one of their consultants to see you.’

  ‘But aren’t you going to listen to it?’

  With a sigh Kasper reached for his stethoscope and went through the weekly routine of listening to Mrs Mimms’s healthy and regular beat.

  Madisson, the beautician, was also hurrying through a late appointment and had one eye on the clock as she bade her last customer farewell and hurriedly locked up the shop, putting the day’s takings in a hidden safe. She barely had time to give herself a quick glance and reassure herself that she was as blonde and thin as ever, before changing into ridiculously high heels and teetering off to her car. She had a ticket for the first night of the Son et Lumière and didn’t want to miss a minute of it, partly because a divinely handsome masseur called Ricardo, who had eyed her up in The Great House, was taking part in it.

  Madisson was almost the last person in Fulke Castle’s car park and was wobbling over the bridge when she heard hasty footsteps behind her and, turning, saw the doctor accompanied by an old fellow called Alfred Munn.

  ‘Good evening, Dr Rudniski. I think I’m terribly late.’

  ‘So am I. Let me help you.’

  Before she could refuse he had taken her by the arm and propelled her inwards at some speed, high heels clacking like mad on the cobbles. Fortunately there were still one or two people making their way to their seats and Kasper found his place in the front row, with Madisson, by a strange coincidence, seated directly behind him. Alfred was some way back. They all sat down, a bit out of breath, and then the lights went out and they were plunged into total blackness, into the silence of which Rafael Devine spoke the opening words of the show.

  Kasper, who had a great knowledge of Polish history but a rather sketchy idea of English, was transported. From
the moment that Fulke Beau de Grave rode gallantly into the floodlights he was totally absorbed by the whole story. He watched the building of the castle, recognizing Nick in humble leggings and tunic, laying bricks with the best of them. Then his eyes widened at the following enactment of Sir Greville Beau de Grave’s falling out with the See of Canterbury. The costumes were particularly good, he thought, particularly those of the high churchmen. The lights went out again and this time he heard the unmistakable thudding of horses’ hooves in the darkness. His blood quickened as the scene of the besieging by King John was revealed and suddenly there were mounted, fighting men literally all over the castle. But his gaze was drawn up to the battlements where two knights dressed in chain mail and helmets were slugging it out for grim death.

  Kasper had never seen such a realistic battle and behind him he heard Madisson squeal with excitement. The two fighters were going at it as if their very lives depended on the outcome, then suddenly one of them unexpectedly fell backwards, hitting the floor, and a second or so later a ghastly scream rang out and the one left standing heaved over the parapet, his body crunching on to the ground below. There was a shocked silence then a stir in the audience and Kasper half rose out of his seat until someone near him said, ‘It’s only a dummy,’ and he relaxed back again. He felt Madisson tap his shoulder and turned his head.

  ‘It was a dummy wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, of course. But I must say it was extremely realistic.’

  ‘Scared me stiff.’

  The show continued, getting more luscious with every scene that passed. Edward, Prince of Wales and Piers Gaveston dripped honey all over one another, then came the lovely spectacle of the Elizabethan Fair. Madisson could be heard shrieking with laughter at the antics of the pantomime horse and giving a discreet whistle at a gorgeous-looking young man who was playing the part of a pedlar, from whom everybody seemed to be buying something.

  Up in the Tudor banqueting room Ekaterina exclaimed to Sir Rufus, ‘Goodness, that is my masseur. He’s staying in Lakehurst. I’m glad he joined the show.’