‘Perhaps it can be fixed, professor?’ said Tig, hoping to calm the situation.
‘These eyes were made in Bavaria, by the best doll-makers in the world, at great expense,’ said the professor.
‘Of course, the Royale will pay for the replacement eye,’ said Snell.
Tig looked up, surprised. Snell was tight-fisted and stingy – it wasn’t like him to offer a farthing without great complaint. The professor’s act must really be special, if the manager was willing to part with his money to keep him happy.
‘Of course you will!’ Professor Faber snapped back.
Snell pursed his lips. Tig could see he was trying very hard not to lose his temper, and she knew from experience he would only take it out on someone else later. Better stay well clear of him for the rest of the day.
‘It will take weeks to have them made,’ the professor continued. ‘I expected better from this establishment.’
‘Tremendously sorry, once again.’ Snell made another little bow. The handkerchief was produced once more, and dabbed on his sweaty neck. ‘I will ensure the person responsible—’ he took hold of the back of Tig’s collar, ‘—is suitably disciplined.’
With that he marched Tig to the back corner of the stage, behind the backdrop cloth, and roughly shoved her through the door to the workshop.
‘I’ll deal with you later.’
An Aside
The best thing to do was keep busy and avoid Mr Snell until his temper had chance to burn itself out. There was always plenty of work to do at the Royale, and most nights Tig was so tired she was asleep the moment her eyes closed. Snell was too cheap to pay set-builders and stagehands all year round, so he only hired help when a show absolutely required more workers. The only permanent staff were the three children – Gus, Tig, and Nelson, Tig’s only friend.
Nelson was already working at the Royale when Tig arrived two years ago. He had been a scavenger, cleaning beneath the machinery in a cotton mill, and learned to read and write at the Ragged School on Sundays. When the teacher saw how neatly he drew his letters, and how quick he was to be helpful, she introduced him to Eliza, who hired him right away to paint the signs and the scenery.
After an hour of window-washing in the lobby, Tig found Nelson in the Minshull Gallery – a grand name for a rather disappointing little museum. It was home to half a dozen oil paintings of questionable quality, and a collection of sad-looking taxidermy animals. This was Snell’s addition to the Royale. He had visited a theatre in London that had a vast exhibition room, filled with exotic stuffed animals like elephants and giraffes, and decided he wanted the same thing.
Of course, the Royale couldn’t afford a stuffed giraffe; the most impressive animal in Snell’s collection was a cross-eyed bear that Tig secretly thought might really be a dog. No one ever came to visit the place, but still Snell insisted it be cleaned top to bottom once a week, display cases polished, floor gleaming.
‘I had to repaint the sign four times,’ said Nelson, as soon as she arrived with the dustpan. He had dark skin and curly hair, and the warmest smile Tig had ever known. A rough paint-speckled apron covered his hand-me-down grey jacket. ‘Snell wanted it to say “Faber’s Marvellous Talking Machine” and Eliza wanted it to say “Faber’s Incredible Talking Machine”.’
‘I’d have gone for “Faber’s Fabulous Talking Machine”,’ said Tig.
‘Don’t you start.’ Nelson rolled his eyes.
Nelson had looked out for Tig from the day she arrived at the Royale. He was from a poor family and had worked ever since he was big enough to hold a broom, but Tig’s life before had been very different. Mr Rabbit had made a good living as foreman at a linen factory. There was a housekeeper and a cook, and Tig had shared a governess with another family. But when her father died – his lungs ruined from breathing the cotton fibres – Tig and her mother were left with nothing. They had ended up in a boarding house, barely scraping together the pennies for rent and food.
Now she lived at the Royale, and her mother had gone off to be governess for some other girl outside the city, though they wrote to each other as often as they could manage. The change had been difficult for Tig, all alone in the world for the very first time. Despite all the hustle and bustle and excitement of theatre life, with all its colourful secrets and fascinating visitors, she often felt sorry for herself. It felt so unfair that fate had upturned her world.
It was Nelson who’d shown her how to make the best of things. He introduced her to all the secret passageways around the building, and the places to hide when Snell was in one of his moods. He taught her how to get by on her measly wages – which food stalls could fill your belly if you only had a penny, how to use a bit of paraffin wax to stop old boots letting in water. The sort of things she’d never needed to learn before.
Nelson knew what it was like to lose someone too. His mum lay buried in a pauper’s grave in Angel Meadows, and he’d been left behind with his grandmother while his dad went to find work in Liverpool shipyards.
Muffled angry voices came from the office, where Snell and Eliza were arguing again. At least with Snell distracted, Tig could tell Nelson what she’d seen.
‘I almost fell from the flies.’ She knelt to hold the dustpan steady as Nelson swept. ‘I dropped the light-stick and it hit the machine that’s just arrived, and damaged it.’
‘Ha!’ Gus was leaning against a case which held a small stuffed monkey, eating an apple and not doing very much of anything. ‘What an idiot.’
‘Shut up, Gus,’ said Tig. ‘I wasn’t talking to you. Anyway, I was only up there because you didn’t do your job.’
‘Because some of us have real work to do. You wouldn’t know.’ Gus was fourteen, and much more important than Tig and Nelson, at least according to him. He had disliked Tig since the first week she arrived and he had been too scared to climb into the flies to replace a broken pulley, so Tig had done it. He was teased by one of the actors for being shown up by a little girl, and ever since then he was always looking for ways to put her down.
‘Heard the shouting from the other side of the building.’ Gus took a big bite of his apple and continued talking with his mouth full. ‘You’re for it this time. Maybe he’ll fire you.’
‘At least I won’t have to look at your ugly face every day then,’ said Tig. She pointed to the door. ‘Hinges need oiling. That’s your job, isn’t it? I can show you how, if it’s too difficult.’
Gus scowled. He threw his apple core towards them and it rolled through a pile of neatly swept dirt. ‘Clean that up, girl,’ said Gus. ‘That’s your job, isn’t it?’ He swaggered off in the direction of the workshop.
‘Horrible boy,’ said Tig.
‘Rotter,’ agreed Nelson. He pinched his nose to mock Gus’s nasal voice. ‘Clean that up, girl!’
Tig glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was really gone. ‘Listen. I saw her. Cold Annie. Up in the flies.’
‘No!’ Nelson leaned on his broom. ‘Are you sure it was her? And not just a trick of the shadows?’
‘She was as close to me as you are now,’ said Tig.
Nelson’s eyes widened.
‘When she touched my hand, it was like a puddle of cold water. That’s what made me lose my balance.’
‘Is it true she only has one eye?’
Tig nodded.
‘Were you scared?’
‘Course not,’ said Tig, remembering how her chest had tightened, her heart pounded. ‘Surprised, is all.’
‘This isn’t good,’ said Nelson. ‘Not good at all. You know what they say about Annie. She always appears before a show goes wrong.’
Out of the corner of her eye Tig saw Gus returning, oil can in hand, so she kept her voice quiet and moved a little closer to Nelson. ‘Do you believe that?’
Nelson nodded solemnly. ‘I know someone at home, whose cousin used to know someone who knew her when she was alive. He said Annie always sensed when they were going to have a bad night. She had the gift.’<
br />
‘I heard she knew it was her last performance,’ said Tig.
‘That’s right,’ said Nelson.
‘She was playing a death scene and when it was time to stand up and take a bow, she didn’t get up. She was really dead.’ Tig sighed.
‘I heard it was murder,’ said Nelson. ‘A rival opera singer put poison in her wine.’
‘Oh yes, I heard that too,’ said Tig. ‘Only the poison didn’t kill her, but she couldn’t sing any more, so she died of a broken heart.’
‘You’re both wrong,’ said Gus, loudly.
‘No one asked you,’ said Tig. She stood up and blew the hair out of her eyes.
‘Someone stole her glass eye before the show, so she couldn’t see. Walked off the edge of the stage and broke all her bones.’
‘That’s stupid,’ said Tig. ‘You can’t see through a glass eye. It’s made of glass.’
‘And how would she break all her bones falling off the stage? It’s not that high.’ Nelson shook his head.
‘I wouldn’t expect you children to understand,’ snapped Gus.
Tig was about to reply when Mr Snell walked in.
‘What’s all this noise? Haven’t you any work to do?’
‘I did tell them, Mr Snell, but they were too busy playing ghost stories. I’ve been doing all the work alone.’
Tig smacked her hand against the nearest display case. ‘Liar!’
‘Silence, Miss Rabbit!’ Snell shouted. ‘Shame on you for shirking your duties.’
Tig clenched her jaw. The best way to handle Snell’s anger was to stay quiet and let him tire himself out. His bark was worse than his bite, but it was so hard to keep her mouth closed when he was wrong and she was right.
‘Come to my office.’ Snell walked away. ‘You’ve already disappointed me once today – you’re in big trouble.’
Gus smirked and folded his arms. Nelson offered a small smile of sympathy.
Tig shrugged and followed Snell. What would the penalty be this time?
Scene Setting
There had once been a set designer at the Royale who told Tig that scenery wasn’t there to just make the stage look pretty. It was a symbol, used to reflect the story of the play. Storm clouds weren’t simply bad weather, they were an illustration of turmoil on the horizon.
By that logic, the office was the perfect scenery for the story of Eliza and Snell’s relationship. It was a struggle for power, played out one picture frame or houseplant at a time.
Eliza’s large desk sat beneath the window. Snell’s even bigger desk stood in front of it, so it was the first thing anyone saw when they entered the room. Eliza had a high-backed green armchair. Snell’s was even higher, with gold paint on the woodwork. When Eliza hung an oil painting of a tree, Snell put up one of a forest.
Tig waited in the middle of the room, trying to look sorry, as Snell took his time walking around his desk. The pointy leaves of a huge palm in an oversized planter rubbed uncomfortably against her arm, but there was no space to avoid it. Snell had bought it to make a point, after he had lost the month-long battle with his sister about whether they should install the gaslights. Eliza said she thought it looked intimidating.
Tig was relieved to see Eliza in her corner now. Whenever Snell was in a foul mood, Eliza would be extra nice, just to frustrate him.
‘Tig, pet, welcome,’ said Eliza without looking up from her work. Even while working in the office she was dressed for a night at the opera, her whitening hair fastened up with elaborately jewelled pins and a silk scarf secured around her shoulders with a huge fabric flower. Eliza Lincoln always dressed like the star she had once been.
‘Don’t speak to her, Eliza, she’s in disgrace.’
‘Whatever you say, Edgar,’ Eliza replied.
‘How many times, woman? Call me Mr Snell in front of the staff!’
Eliza had defied her parents to become an actress and made her fortune in the theatre. Snell had been the dutiful son and gone into respectable business, but lost his fortune in a bad investment. He’d bet all his money on a miracle medicine which claimed to cure everything from baldness to consumption, sure to sell in the millions, but soon found out it was nothing more than horse wee and powdered chalk. When Eliza retired from acting, she bought the Royale and hired her brother as the manager. Tig secretly thought that Snell was always in such a bad mood because he had never recovered from the shame of having to rely on his little sister for his income.
Snell once said that Tig reminded him of his sister, ‘a woman with ideas above her station’, and he had been punishing her for this ever since. At least Tig had ideas. Snell wouldn’t know a good one if it crawled up his trouser leg and bit him on the trinkets. Hardly a week went by without Tig’s meagre pay being docked for something or other, usually because she refused to keep her head down and her mouth shut.
Snell eased himself into his chair. He picked up a newspaper from his desk and slowly folded it. Tig knew he liked to keep her waiting to show he was in charge.
A letter lying on the desk caught Tig’s eye and she tried to read it… very interested in your property and able to pay handsomely for the…
Snell noticed her looking and snatched the letter away, shoving it into his desk drawer, which he then locked. Finally, he leaned forward and laced his fingers together. ‘Thanks to you, I have had a most unpleasant afternoon.’
Tig opened her mouth to respond, but Snell held up a finger to silence her.
‘Mr Faber was most displeased by your shenanigans.’
‘Professor Faber.’ The words slipped out before Tig could stop herself.
‘Silence!’ Snell rapped the desk with his knuckles.
Eliza gave a small laugh, which she turned into a cough when Snell glared in her direction.
‘He is a most disagreeable man,’ he continued. ‘Rude. Ungrateful. In short, I have never encountered such a difficult person. I have no doubt his month here will inflict utter misery on us all.’
Tig clasped her hands together behind her back so she wouldn’t fidget. Why was Snell telling her all of this?
‘You are my most troublesome employee, Miss Rabbit, and I do not think you are suited to working at the theatre. Today’s mishap has only made me more convinced of that. My sister, who lacks my head for business, has persuaded me to give you one last chance.’
‘A troublesome guest, and a troublesome employee,’ Eliza said, and winked at Tig when Snell wasn’t looking. ‘If only there was a way to solve both problems at once.’
‘If only,’ said Snell.
‘And I daresay Professor Faber will take up quite a bit of your time, Edgar. He’s not used to theatre life. He’s not even used to England. We’ll be very busy taking care of him. It’s a shame you won’t be able to avoid his grumpy ways.’
‘Yes, Eliza, but as you can see, I’m busy now trying to deal with Miss Rabbit and—’ he stopped and stared into space for a moment. Tig could imagine a crank being turned inside his head as he realized what Eliza had said.
Eliza saw it too. She smiled and Tig and raised her eyebrows.
‘You will be Mr Faber’s assistant!’ he said, with a flourish.
‘What a clever idea, Edgar,’ said Eliza, pretending to be engrossed in her work. ‘How ever did you think of that?’
‘Really?’ Tig rocked forward onto her toes. This was the best news! Disagreeable or not, being Professor Faber’s assistant was an honour. To think what she could learn from a whole month with a genius inventor. Once she won him over, of course, and made up for damaging his machine. Tig tried to learn something from everyone who came through the Royale – the musicians, the designers, the actors – she absorbed every bit of theatre knowledge she possibly could. Her brain was already bubbling with ideas…
Snell cleared his throat, frowned, and Tig remembered that this was meant to be a punishment. She quickly rearranged her face into a look of concern and dropped her gaze to the ground.
‘Oh no,’ she added,
quietly.
‘You can be the one to deal with him. He won’t take any of your nonsense, I promise you that.’
‘Yes, Mr Snell.’ Tig bit her lip and nodded rapidly, trying to look scared.
‘A stern hand, that’s what you need. He’ll keep you in your place. You will obey Mr Faber at all times. You will see to it that his stay here is entirely comfortable.’
‘Professor Faber,’ Tig muttered.
‘And most importantly, you will see to it that I never have to hear a single complaint from that man.’
‘You won’t, Mr Snell! I’m the perfect person for the job. I can help him with his invention, and to design the scenery, and I can show him—’
‘Hush,’ said Snell with a shake of the head. ‘You’ll be doing his cleaning, his errands, nothing more. That’s all you’re fit for.’
‘Please, Mr Snell, I can do so much more. If you’ll only give me a chance—’
‘Rid yourself of these notions, girl. You’re a stagehand, and a maid, and that’s all you’ll ever be. That’s your lot in life. You can’t fight your fate.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said through gritted teeth. All she had to do was keep quiet until he had finished his lecture, and then she’d have her reward – the job as Faber’s assistant. So what if the professor was a difficult man? Tig was used to dealing with Snell every day, and no one could be more difficult than him.
‘You will report to the professor tomorrow morning. And you will continue with your regular duties around the Royale. Things have been far too easy for you, young lady.’
Easy? As if he would know. He spent half his time at the Shakespeare Inn with his friends, and hadn’t done a day’s hard work in his life.
‘Should you displease the professor, or cause me another ounce of trouble, you will be out on your ear. Don’t speak out of turn. Don’t pester him with questions. Don’t…’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Don’t be you.’
‘Yes, sir.’ It took all of Tig’s willpower to resist jumping up and down.
The Incredible Talking Machine Page 2
