Murder and the Pantomime Cat

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘We noticed,’ said Libby. ‘Why hasn’t the director put a stop to it?’

  ‘He tried.’ Clemency shook her head. ‘But Ackroyd just smiles – you, know, like he does – and ignores him. The trouble is, the kids love him.’

  ‘It’s not just him, though, is it?’ asked Fran shrewdly.

  Clemency sighed. ‘No. I don’t know whether it’s because I never used to do panto before, but I’ve never experienced this sort of thing.’

  ‘Always more of a collaborative ensemble thing, eh?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘Exactly.’ Clemency turned to her thankfully. ‘No stars, if you know what I mean. But in this one there seem to be too many. Did you hear about the row over billing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Cooper Fallon and Holly were more or less sharing top billing, and as they’re both sort of current, that seemed fair. Old Brandon didn’t mind, neither did Mark, and quite honestly, I would have said he was more popular than all of them put together.’ She sighed again. ‘But Ackroyd kicked up a terrible fuss, and Sheila did, too. She said if Ackroyd was put up, so should she be.’

  ‘Why did Ackroyd think he should have top billing?’ asked Fran. ‘He does skin parts. It’s not Hamlet.’

  ‘He was in a long-running kids show on TV.’

  ‘Well, Mark Jones still is. Was it very popular?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Haven’t you heard of Raggedy Cat?’ asked Clemency in astonishment. ‘Ackroyd is Raggedy Cat.’

  ‘Oh!’ Libby and Fran were enlightened. Even they hadn’t managed to miss the phenomenon that had spread black and white cat images over everything from pyjamas to lunch boxes.

  ‘But surely,’ said Libby, ‘it’s no longer on TV. He rather lost popularity, didn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Clemency, ‘but he’s still regarded as a top notch skin player.’

  ‘OK. What about Cooper Fallon?’ asked Fran. ‘Did he kick up a fuss?’

  ‘When he thought Ackroyd might get top billing, yes. He’s a current radio personality…’ she trailed off.

  ‘Embarrassing?’ suggested Libby.

  ‘It was, rather,’ said Clemency with a shamefaced grin.

  ‘I don’t know why Sheila got uppity, though.’ Fran frowned. ‘She’s only really a stage star, isn’t she?’

  ‘And not the young star she used to be,’ agreed Libby.

  ‘Mum used to know her,’ said Clemency. ‘They did Shakespeare together years ago. Mum was Gertrude and she was Ophelia, and they did several Ayckbourns in the West End.’

  ‘Oh, I thought she’d concentrated on musicals,’ said Libby. ‘So much for being in the business myself.’

  ‘Well, anyway,’ Clemency went on, ‘the atmosphere’s been dreadful. Ackroyd’s playing every nasty trick he can think of, Sheila’s ignoring everyone and cutting people’s lines, and Cooper’s putting in so many bits of business he’s ruining every scene. Especially,’ she concluded gloomily, ‘mine.’

  ‘Sounds awful,’ said Libby, glancing at Fran. ‘But what do you want us to do about it?’

  Silence fell. Clemency gazed first at the floor, then at Fran and, finally, at Libby.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She fidgeted with her mug. ‘But you helped Mum over that business at Mallowan Manor…’

  ‘Yes, but there was something concrete going on there, wasn’t there?’ said Libby. ‘We can’t investigate atmosphere.’

  ‘And we can’t interfere with the production, either,’ said Fran. ‘Sir Andrew or your mother might be able to have a word with the director, but only after they’ve seen for themselves.’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry Mum.’

  ‘Who appointed the director?’ asked Libby.

  ‘I don’t know. Mum and Coolidge seem to know all about him.’

  ‘Could we ask Coolidge, do you think?’ Libby looked across at Fran. ‘I bet he knows as much as the others.’

  ‘More, usually,’ said Clemency, with a faint smile.

  ‘Do you mind if we do? Ask him, I mean,’ said Fran.

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Clemency made a face. ‘He’s always been very good to all of us, and he never seems to mind that he gave up his own career for Mum’s.’

  Coolidge had first been presented to Libby and Fran as Dame Amanda’s butler, in the impeccable mould of PG Wodehouse’s Jeeves. It transpired that this was an act put on to impress the susceptible and they in fact had been married, by that time, for several years.

  ‘I don’t see how we can ask him without Dame Amanda knowing,’ said Fran.

  ‘No.’ Libby and Fran both turned inquiring gazes on Clemency, who looked resigned.

  ‘Oh, well, do your best. Only I don’t think I can carry on until after Christmas like this, and Mum will think…’

  ‘Think what? She’s your mother!’ said Libby.

  ‘But I don’t want to go running to Mummy! And that’s what the rest of the cast will think.’

  ‘No reason for them to know,’ said Libby bracingly. ‘Now, come on. Time you were getting off to the theatre, even if you don’t want to.’

  When Clemency had gone, Fran and Libby sat silent for a while. Eventually Fran got up to clear away the mugs.

  ‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘Ring Coolidge.’

  Libby sighed, dug out her mobile and scrolled through to find the number.

  ‘I hope we’re doing the right thing,’ she said, as she waited to connect.

  ‘Hello, Libby?’ Coolidge’s quiet tones were instantly soothing. ‘Did you want Abby?’

  ‘No, Coolidge, actually it’s you I wanted. And it’s rather difficult.’

  ‘Ah.’ There was a smile in Coolidge’s voice. ‘Clemency, then?’

  ‘How did you know?’ gasped Libby.

  ‘It’s been fairly obvious that the panto isn’t going well. But she won’t tell her mother what’s wrong, and by extension, me. So what’s the problem?’

  As succinctly as she could, Libby explained, including hers and Fran’s impressions from the dress rehearsal.

  ‘What does she want you to do?’ asked Coolidge, when she’d finished.

  ‘Put a stop to it, I suppose,’ said Libby. ‘But goodness knows how. I mean, when I was still in the business full time, this sort of thing cropped up, but never in such a wholesale form, and it usually got sorted out. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. The director should do something, really, shouldn’t he? Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes.’ Coolidge sighed. ‘He’s another of Abby’s lame ducks. She worked with him several years ago, and he had a run of bad luck. He isn’t used to panto – that’s one of the problems.’

  ‘Blimey! And it’s not as if he’s got an experienced team around him, is it? The choreography looked all right, and the music sounded OK, but they aren’t used to working together, are they?’

  ‘Actually the MD and choreographer are. They came as a package, so hopefully they’ve been a bit of help. But I’ll see what I can do. I don’t suppose I can do it without Abby knowing, though.’

  ‘No, that’s what I told Clemency, but she doesn’t want to be seen to go running to Mummy.’

  ‘Leave it with me. When is it we’re all going? Tomorrow, isn’t it? I’ll try and have a word or two before then.’

  Libby reported this conversation to Fran, who shook her head. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘Oh, come on! That’s what they say in the movies!’

  ‘No, but I have.’ Fran frowned at her friend. ‘There’s a nasty undercurrent.’

  Libby shifted uneasily in her chair. ‘Well, yes…’

  ‘I just hope no one gets damaged.’

  ‘Damaged? What do you mean?’

  ‘It could mean anything.’ Fran shook her head again. ‘But someone’s going to be hurt.’

  ‘Clemency and Holly already are,’ said Libby.

  On Saturday evening, Guy and Ben had politely declined to accompany Libby and Fran to the pantomime, but had elected to spend the
evening in Nethergate’s plentiful pubs. Libby and Ben were to stay overnight.

  They were duly met in the foyer of The Alexandria by the current manager, who bore them away to an upper room where Dame Amanda, Coolidge, and Sir Andrew were all waiting, glasses of champagne in hand. The director was also there, looking distinctly ill at ease.

  ‘Any luck?’ Libby managed to whisper to Coolidge.

  He shrugged. ‘Tell you later. Difficult.’

  After a few formal words of thanks, the small party were ushered away to prime seats in the stalls and the house lights were dimmed.

  ‘Here we go,’ Libby whispered, and Fran dug her in the ribs.

  At first, everything seemed to be going well. Tom the Miller’s Son had the children in the audience on his side from the word go, the mischievous Puss had everyone alternately cheering and booing, and Princess Pam was endearingly shy. The King, admittedly, was a little overbearing towards his charmingly daffy Queen, and the Fairy was positively Wagnerian, but all in all, Libby was pleasantly surprised.

  However, things began to change after the first ‘front of tabs’ scene. This was a scene played in front of the curtain to facilitate a change of scene behind, and in this case by the two funny men, or Broker’s Men as they were in Cinderella. They had worked together for years and knew just how to wind the audience up. But the cheerful atmosphere crashed apart on the opening of the riverbank scene, where Puss was supposed to persuade Tom to remove his clothes and jump in the river. Only Puss wasn’t playing.

  The little party in the stalls moved uneasily in their seats as Puss pursued his own course through the scene with poor Tom struggling to catch up and get back on track, a feat only accomplished by the funny men making an unscheduled appearance and kidnapping the cat. The rest of the audience didn’t appear to notice anything wrong, and Tom managed to play the rest of the scene on his own, until the entrance of the Royal Party, at which point the party in the stalls all looked at each other in desperation.

  Here, Puss was supposed to rush out in his guise as ‘the servant of the Marquis of Carrabas’, and solicit the King’s help. The funny men, proving themselves to be true professionals, once again saved the day by bringing on a bound and gagged Puss and telling the King they had caught him pretending to be the servant of the Marquis of Carrabas. That Puss was furious could be plainly seen, but the delighted audience just cheered the funny men on, Tom was ‘rescued’ from the river and provided with new clothes, and the scene ended traditionally, with a rousing chorus number.

  After another front cloth scene and the palace scene where the Ogre captures the princess, it was the interval, and Libby’s party made thankfully for the bar.

  ‘I don’t know if I can stand the second half,’ said Dame Amanda, accepting a glass of wine from an attentive minion. ‘How could I have sent poor Clemency into that hellhole?’

  ‘None of us were to know,’ said Sir Andrew. ‘I feel terrible because I recommended Ackroyd Lane.’

  ‘Do you know him?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Not personally, simply by reputation as a good skin part player. And to tell the truth, I felt a bit sorry for him. After they cancelled his telly, he couldn’t get arrested.’

  ‘Do you know why they cancelled it?’ asked Coolidge.

  ‘There were rumours,’ said Sir Andrew darkly, ‘but aren’t there always?’

  ‘And Cooper Fallon,’ mused Dame Amanda. ‘His star has been falling a bit recently, hasn’t it? He can’t play the big musical leads any more, and he doesn’t want to do G&S, although when we did The Mikado together he was a lovely Mikado.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you’d done G&S,’ said Libby. ‘Were you Katisha?’

  ‘Who else?’ Amanda grinned. ‘This was a few years ago, and I don’t think Cooper liked playing father to someone old enough to be his mother!’

  ‘You weren’t,’ said Coolidge. ‘He isn’t that young.’

  Amanda turned to Libby and Fran. ‘I wasn’t sure what to believe when Coolidge told me Clem had been to see you. I put it down to nerves – but now I’ve seen it…’ She shook her head. ‘Actually she’s coping very well.’

  ‘She is,’ said Fran. ‘She’s turned herself into a long-suffering Queen, hasn’t she?’

  ‘I wonder how they’ve coped with Puss in the interval?’ said Coolidge. ‘We’ve got the big Lion and Mouse sequence coming up, haven’t we? How will he deal with that one?’

  But to everyone’s surprise, Puss behaved impeccably, although turning in a less than inspired performance. Dame Amanda sent a message round to Clemency saying they would see her in the bar of The Swan on the square rather than in the theatre, in order to avoid confrontation with any of the other stars or the management. As it happened, Ben and Guy were also in there, and looked rather surprised to see them. Libby went over to explain and, at Sir Andrew’s request, to ask them to join them. Coolidge surprised everybody by ordering champagne, which, he explained, was to assure Clemency that her own performance was above reproach.

  She arrived, surprisingly, with young Mark Jones in tow.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind, mum,’ she said, after a round of kisses had been exchanged. ‘And Mark’s been suffering as much as any of us in the last few days.’

  ‘He didn’t have a go at you tonight, though,’ said Libby. ‘What -’

  She was cut off simultaneously by a kick from Fran, a glare from Ben and Sir Andrew rushing into speech. She subsided.

  ‘What we want to know,’ said Sir Andrew, ‘is what happened in the interval. I was almost sure you’d have to go on without a Puss.’

  Clemency and Mark looked at one another.

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Mark. ‘Pinch and Punch wouldn’t let him go and carted him off to one of the dressing rooms, where our dear director apparently read the riot act. He was warned that if he stepped out of line, Pinch and Punch would make another unscheduled entrance and haul him off for the rest of the show. I don’t know how Sam made him promise. He isn’t the strongest director in the world.’

  ‘Counter-blackmail?’ suggested Clemency, then looked stricken, as all the guests turned to her in horror.

  ‘Blackmail?’ chorused Dame Amanda, Fran, and Libby together.

  Mark sighed, and seemed to slump in his chair. ‘Oh, yes. That was one of his choicest tricks. Sly little suggestions that he knew something disreputable about you.’

  ‘And the trouble was,’ said Clemency, ‘there was just enough truth there to get you wondering.’

  ‘He couldn’t have had anything on you, darling,’ said Dame Amanda, while Coolidge took her hand.

  ‘Oh, I got my part through nepotism, apparently, not having enough talent to make it on my own.’ Clemency screwed up her face.

  ‘As host of a kids’ TV show, you can imagine what my crime was supposed to be,’ said Mark gloomily. ‘However,’ he said, brightening, ‘I threw the same things back at him about his own show. That shut him up as far as I was concerned, but I bet he would have found another little stick to prod me with.’

  ‘And what will happen now?’ asked Fran.

  ‘He’s staying, apparently,’ said Clemency. ‘At least for tomorrow’s shows, to see how he behaves.’

  The two shows on Sundays were at 10.30 in the morning and 2.30 in the afternoon, and universally loathed by casts from the West End downwards.

  ‘Has he got an understudy?’ asked Coolidge.

  ‘We’ve all got chorus understudies,’ said Mark. ‘They can’t afford anything else, but we have to have them, or we don’t get any time off. Not that we take time off, of course, unless it’s illness or the traditional granny’s funeral.’

  ‘So is that the problem with everyone? A little bit of homely blackmail?’ asked Libby.

  ‘It isn’t really blackmail,’ said Clemency. ‘He doesn’t want anything. Just to make you aware he has a hold over you. Or thinks he has.’

  ‘He hasn’t got a hold over poor little Holly,’ said Mark. ‘He just delights in pla
ying every trick in the book and unnerving her. And what with Cooper being lasciviously avuncular all over her, she’s in a hell of a state. She’d be fine if only she had some support.’

  ‘She’s all right with you,’ said Fran.

  ‘And with dear old Brandon,’ said Mark. ‘He manages to make her look like a real feisty princess.’

  Libby winced at the word ‘feisty’ but held her tongue.

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’ asked Sir Andrew. ‘I thought we could perhaps get hold of management and tell them how unprofessional we thought he was.’ He turned to Libby and Fran. ‘You’re on the committee, aren’t you? You could tell them.’

  ‘I don’t know how popular we’d be,’ said Fran.

  ‘But it’s worth a try,’ said Libby.

  Back at Coastguard Cottage, Guy poured them all a nightcap and Fran took Libby into the kitchen for a conference.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ she said.

  ‘I think it’s a mess,’ said Libby. ‘But I don’t see what we can do about it. Yes, we can have a word with the management team, but none of them know anything about managing a theatre, let alone a production. Andrew and Abby would carry more weight.’

  ‘But I can see why Dame Amanda wouldn’t want to put her oar in,’ said Fran. ‘Favouritism.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Libby. ‘Oh, well, I’ll ring the chair tomorrow. What was his name again?’

  ‘Roland Carey. An accountant.’

  ‘Oh, yes. He’ll be a great help.’

  Mr Carey, however, wasn’t even in the country, preparing himself for the onslaught of the British taxation system in January by retreating to Florida for a month.

  ‘All right for some,’ said Libby, returning to the sitting room of Coastguard Cottage after her abortive phone call the following morning.

  ‘Who’s the vice-chair?’ asked Guy.

  ‘No idea,’ said Fran. ‘We’ve got a list somewhere…’

  ‘I’ll look it up when I get home,’ said Libby. ‘Meanwhile, I shall forget all about it for the time being. It’s a Steeple Martin Sunday, and Hetty’s roast awaits.’

  Ben’s mother Hetty still lived in The Manor, the Wilde family home, and expected her extended family to lunch every Sunday, where she provided an enormous joint of beef, mounds of perfect roast potatoes, and all the accoutrements.