The handle turned and the door crept open an inch.
‘Yes?’
A sliver of Faber’s face appeared, one eye pressed into the gap.
‘Professor Faber, I’m Tig.’
‘You’re the girl who damaged my machine. Go away.’ The door banged shut.
This was not going to be easy or pleasant. No doubt that’s what Snell had been hoping when he assigned her to be Faber’s assistant. But she was not about to let Snell win – the future of the Royale depended on it. The professor would simply have to forgive her.
She knocked again.
The door opened a little further, so she could see his whole face.
‘I’m to be your assistant, professor. Didn’t Mr Snell say?’ said Tig. ‘I’m Tig Rabbit.’
‘Absolutely not!’ He went to close the door, but Tig stuck her boot in the gap, sloshing coffee onto the floor. He glared down at her feet in disbelief.
‘I’m very sorry I hurt your machine,’ she said. ‘Only, I tripped because Cold Annie – well, she’s our ghost, you see, so I tripped—’
‘I don’t care.’
‘But I’ve made it right. I fixed it! I’m good with machinery, I can help…’
‘It was you who replaced the eye?’ His brow furrowed deeply with a look of both annoyance and curiosity.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘What else did you do to it? Did you touch the mechanisms inside?’
‘No, nothing, professor.’
‘You should not have done that!’ His voice was getting louder and louder and Tig cringed, desperately hoping Snell wouldn’t hear. ‘I didn’t give you permission to touch her,’ he shouted. ‘Euphonia is a valuable and fragile piece of equipment, I will not have any more clumsy—’ He suddenly stopped.
Tig took this as a good sign. She removed her foot from the door jamb. ‘I found the glass eye yesterday. It was like fate or something.’
‘Hush.’ He held up one finger. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Tig.’
‘Tig what?’
‘Tig, sir.’ She added a little curtsey for extra politeness.
‘Silly girl. What’s your last name?’
‘Oh. Rabbit.’
A flicker of recognition crossed his face. Perhaps Snell had told him about her, after all. ‘I see. Come in.’ He opened the door a little wider and allowed her to shuffle into the room.
‘I don’t shake hands,’ said Faber, not that Tig had tried.
She nodded. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
They stood staring at each other for a moment. Close up, Faber was quite the tragic figure. Dark circles under his deep-set eyes suggested he had not had enough rest for years, and his suit was creased and threadbare in places. She guessed he was somewhere around forty-five, with the first hints of grey showing in his untidy hair. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, but also wary and sad. He was completely different to most of the performers Tig had seen pass through the Royale.
‘I brought you breakfast.’ She held up the mug and the paper bundle.
‘Put it over there,’ said Faber, waving towards a dressing table in the corner.
‘So, how may I… assist?’ asked Tig. She needed to make herself as useful as possible, so Snell had no cause to scold her, and so she could teach Faber all the theatrical tricks he needed to know.
He glanced around the room as though searching for ideas.
The walls were lined with mismatched chairs and one battered-looking settee. The nearest table was being used as a desk, and on it sat a large notebook that was open to a page covered in detailed plans of cogs and clockwork mechanisms. Tig longed to look more closely at the drawing. Two suit jackets hung from a rail, both as worn as the one the professor was wearing. A small chest and a carpet bag seemed to be all the possessions he had brought. It wasn’t much for such a long journey.
‘I thought you’d be older,’ said the professor.
‘We met yesterday,’ said Tig, feeling extremely confused.
‘I remember. But I didn’t think you would be Rabbit. That is, I thought Miss Rabbit would be someone else… Never mind.’
This whole conversation was so odd, Tig didn’t know what to say. And Tig always had something to say. She shoved her hands in her pockets, and tried not to fidget.
‘When you replaced the eye,’ he said, ‘did you notice anything unusual?’
‘Unusual?’
‘You didn’t… hear anything strange?’ His head was angled towards the floor, but Tig could see him watching her out of the corner of his eye.
‘No? Like what?’
The professor folded his arms. Tig wondered if he was always this uncomfortable and tense. ‘How was the show? Did you watch?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’ said Tig. ‘Marvellous, wonderful. The cleverest thing I ever saw.’
‘Um. Thank you.’ He nodded very quickly and looked down, as though praise made him uneasy. ‘And the audience, did they like it?’
Tig hesitated. ‘I didn’t talk to any of them.’
This wasn’t exactly a lie, and it seemed kinder than telling him the complaints she had overheard. His hands unclenched, but his posture still seemed tight.
‘So is there anything you need?’ said Tig after another uneasy lull in the conversation. ‘We’ve never had anyone live in the Green Room before.’
‘Why do you call it the “Green Room?” This colour, it is cream, yes?’ He gestured at the off-white walls.
‘ “Green Room” is just the name of the room. It’s not to do with the colour of the walls.’
‘Why?’
Tig paused, not sure of the answer. ‘Because it’s always been called that,’ she said eventually.
‘Odd.’
‘Have you not performed in many theatres before, professor?’
‘No,’ said Faber, brow furrowed. ‘Mostly I’ve done private viewings.’
‘Well, theatres can be ever such unlucky places. You can’t be too careful.’ Tig thought about Cold Annie and how yesterday’s show had been a disaster. Perhaps it was true that the ghost only appeared before a performance went wrong. She was about to explain this when she remembered Snell’s warning to mind herself and be quiet. Best not to bother the professor with talk of ghosts. ‘Aren’t you going to eat your food?’
He scratched his head. ‘Not now. I was just going to tune up Euphonia,’ he said. ‘I suppose you can watch. If you behave.’
She followed him out onto the stage, still dark except for the oil lamp she had left there the night before. It must be nearly empty by now. The talking machine sat in a pool of milky light, its face staring blankly out over rows of empty seats.
‘She’s incredible,’ Tig said. The expressionless gaze was not quite so frightening with the professor nearby. She reached forward to press a key.
‘Don’t touch!’ said Faber, eyes wide.
Tig jumped back. ‘Sorry.’
‘You must never touch her again without my permission. Give me your oath.’
Tig nodded. ‘I promise.’
‘If anyone else had done this—’ He pointed to Euphonia’s new eye, looked piercingly at Tig, then shook his head.
Another strange thing to say.
‘How does it work?’ she said. ‘I mean, how can it talk?’
‘She is a musical instrument. Not unlike a…’ A look of irritation crossed the professor’s face as he struggled for the right word. ‘It goes big and small, like this.’ He moved his hands together and apart repeatedly. ‘And there is a small piano, on the side. And buttons.’
‘An accordion?’ suggested Tig.
‘Accordion!’ He threw up his hands. ‘It sounds the same in German.’
‘So the bellows,’ Tig pointed, careful not to get too close, ‘they’re like the middle part of the accordion.’
‘Correct,’ said Faber. He became more animated when discussing the machine, beginning to move around with a frantic energy. ‘They push air through a reed
. All sound is made by the… shaking of the air.’
‘Vibrations,’ offered Tig.
‘Sound travels, shake shake shake, through the air in different patterns.’ He wiggled his fingers.
‘Sound waves,’ said Tig. She had learned about sound waves from the orchestra conductor. How to make them stronger so people on the back row could hear, or deaden them to stop noises travelling from backstage.
‘You are a woman of science!’
Faber sounded pleased, and Tig swelled with pride.
‘In the body, our lungs are bellows,’ explained the professor, ‘our vocal chords are the reed, and then the lips and teeth and tongue –’ he punctuated his words with exaggerated facial movements to demonstrate the movements of the mouth – ‘change the shape of the sound waves to make different noises.’
Tig nodded along eagerly.
‘I press these keys, and levers and valves move in Euphonia’s mouth. She can make nineteen sounds. Press the keys in the right order and she can say any word in English, or German, or French. She can sing! She can laugh!’ He giggled and clapped his hands together in glee and then, quick as a whip-crack, his face snapped back to its serious expression. ‘You understand what I’m telling you, yes?’
‘I think so,’ said Tig.
‘If nobody touches the bellows, it will make no sound. If nobody presses the keys the mouth can’t form the words. Do you see?’ He stooped a little, staring directly into her eyes with an uncomfortable intensity.
Tig nodded again.
‘An accordion cannot play by itself.’
‘No, professor, of course not.’
His gaze drifted off over the empty audience. Tig glanced back over her shoulder to see if there was anyone there.
‘A machine that could talk without human assistance… now, wouldn’t that be miraculous?’ He blinked hard and turned to her abruptly. ‘That’s all. You can leave now.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Tig. ‘But, I wanted to help you with your show. I have these ideas, you see, and…’
‘No need.’ He waved her away.
‘I actually think that—’
‘I don’t care what you think.’ He turned his attention to the machine, polishing the wood with a soft cloth, entirely absorbed in his work.
Frustrated, Tig tugged at her hair, which was already coming loose from its bun. This might not be as easy as she’d thought. Perhaps she should give Professor Faber some time to get used to her before she tried to give him advice on his performance. Nelson would tell her not to rush into things, not to push too hard, not to get herself into trouble. But this was important. Snell was counting on Faber’s show failing, and without Tig’s help, it would. She couldn’t waste any time and the worry made her legs restless. She hopped from one foot to the other as she tried to decide what to do.
‘Do you always fidget so?’ said Faber in an irritated tone.
‘Yes, sorry.’ She clasped her hands together in an effort to keep still. ‘Professor Faber, your machine is amazing.’
‘I know.’
‘And I want everyone to see it. If you’ll let me, I can improve your show so more people come.’
He scowled. ‘You’re an extremely meddlesome child.’
‘I know,’ Tig admitted. ‘But—’
‘Go away, Miss Rabbit.’
Front of House
Ticket sales that night were even worse than the previous one. Tig and Nelson were on usher duty, standing in the lobby and pointing people towards their seats, and by five minutes to curtain-up the place was still two-thirds empty. The big smile Nelson wore faded between customers – he was concerned too.
Tig wondered if Professor Faber would even care. She didn’t understand him. Why come to the theatre if he wasn’t bothered about putting on a good show? What was the point of lugging his huge, heavy, delicate machine all the way to England in the first place?
Eliza was decked out in a dark blue dress, with so many frills and bows she barely fitted inside the ticket booth, and although she painted on a smile for the patrons who were there, Tig could see she was upset. Snell looked positively jovial, pacing around the lobby in his top hat, cheerily greeting the customers. Of course he was happy – he wanted the show to fail, so he could push his sister into selling the theatre.
As they closed the doors behind the last arrivals, Nelson nudged Tig with his elbow. ‘Cheer up! It’s the best day of the week!’
‘How can this be a good day?’ she muttered.
‘It’s payday! Payday pie day! Did you forget?’
Every Friday when they got their wages, Tig and Nelson would visit the street sellers on Market Street for their weekly treat. Nelson would buy a meat pie, Tig a treacle tart, and they would share. It had been their tradition ever since Tig came to the Royale – a bright spot at the end of a long week.
‘Of course I didn’t forget,’ she said, absently. But her mind was elsewhere. If the theatre closed and they both ended up in the mills, could they still meet up for pie day? They might end up on different shifts, in different jobs, at different mills. Being separated from Nelson would hurt every bit as much as losing the theatre.
‘It won’t take me long to count up the takings tonight.’ Eliza carried the cash box towards the office.
‘Excuse me, Mr Snell?’ said Nelson.
‘What is it, boy?’
‘It’s payday, sir.’
‘So it is,’ said Snell with a frown. ‘Another week of paying through the nose for you idle creatures to live a life of luxury.’
Idle? Luxury? Furious, Tig opened her mouth to respond but Nelson quickly stepped in front of her, holding his hand out.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Nelson, as Snell counted each penny into his palm.
‘And you, Miss Rabbit.’
She put her hand out and managed a terse, ‘Thank you,’ through gritted teeth, then exclaimed, ‘Wait! This is threepence short!’
Snell smirked. ‘You’re lucky I’m giving you anything at all after your behaviour yesterday.’
‘But you said looking after the professor was my punishment,’ she protested.
‘It is.’ Snell put the remainder of his money back into his pocket. ‘Your wages are docked for the cost of the damage you caused.’
‘For how long?’
‘As long as I see fit.’ He straightened his cuffs and flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his lapel. ‘Enough standing around, children! Back to work!’
Nelson darted off to get in position and lift the curtain. ‘Meet you in the usual place, Tig! Pie day!’
Snell left through the front doors. Tig assumed that he was off to the pub as usual. Eliza and the children worked every hour they could to keep the Royale running smoothly. Snell just wore the title of ‘manager’ like a medal, enjoying the glory and avoiding the work.
Tig stared after him, smothered by the weight of her anger. She hated feeling so helpless. It wasn’t right that he could treat them so badly and they just had to take it. It wasn’t right that he was plotting to steal the theatre right out from under their feet.
She shook herself. Snell was gone. Now was her chance to tell Eliza about the conversation she had overheard between him and Mr Albion from the mill. Racing into the office, she shoved the door open so hard it banged loudly against the wall.
‘Goodness me, Tig, is there a fire?’
‘Mr Snell wants to sell the theatre!’ She blurted out the words before the door had closed behind her.
‘There’s no news there, pet. He tells me once a week at least. To him, the best business is the one that brings in the largest amount of money for the smallest amount of work. He can’t understand why I’d care about the art, or the stories, or the excitement. He can’t count those things.’ She settled into her chair and tipped out the coins from the box. ‘You needn’t worry. As long as I can keep the doors open, we’ll be making shows here.’
But Eliza was looking very worried indeed as she sorted the coins into pil
es.
‘He’s started actually trying to sell it, though,’ said Tig. ‘I heard him talking to the man from the mill.’
‘Mr Albion?’ Eliza sighed, and straightened up a stack of half-pennies. ‘He’s wanted this building for years. But Edgar can’t sell without me. Both of our names are on the deeds.’
‘He wants the professor’s show to fail, so we have no money, so you have to shut down, so he can sell the building.’ She blurted the words, rising up onto her tiptoes and shoving her hands into her pockets, unable to keep herself still.
‘I’m sure the show won’t fail,’ said Eliza. ‘It’s not the first time we’ve had a few bad nights.’
‘It can’t fail! The Royale can’t close! I love it here, this is my home now, and what about Nelson and—’
Eliza put her finger to her lips and Tig realized her voice had been getting louder and louder.
‘You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing,’ said Eliza.
‘I won’t let Mr Snell ruin things. He’s scheming against you – I’ll find a way to prove it.’
‘Tig, darling, you won’t help things by interfering all the time. If you’re not careful, you’re going to get sacked. Edgar was all set to kick you out yesterday, if I hadn’t talked him round, and put the idea of you assisting Faber into his head.’
‘Thank you for that,’ Tig said meekly.
‘You need to learn to control yourself. I can’t fight your corner with Edgar for ever.’ Eliza smiled gently. ‘You won’t go far in life unless you learn a bit of tact and to bide your time.’
‘Mr Snell is no good for this place,’ Tig pleaded, doing her best to sound calm. ‘I wish you would send him away.’
‘Edgar is the only family I have. You understand how important that is, don’t you?’
This felt like a very unfair thing to say. Eliza knew that Tig was only here because her family had been split up by her father’s death. She felt anger rising up again, but swallowed it down. Eliza was good to her – it wouldn’t help to lose her temper now. ‘Well,’ she said once she could trust herself not to shout, ‘he would still be your brother if he didn’t work here.’
The Incredible Talking Machine Page 5
