CHAPTER 11
In addition to her being tall, extremely beautiful and a gifted flirt, Annie is also a fair seamstress. Paired with Mother’s eye for fashion, and the large amount of fabric Parker shipped in for us every six months, we did not do too badly for costumes. I had always wished we could afford a small team of staff to help, but my hope was that once we had performed for the ton, we would be able to expand.
As it was, our costumes tended to look very well on the stage, beneath the bright lights and from a distance, but did tend to be slightly botched together, with seams being where they shouldn’t. Annie was very gifted in making things work under very short notice, but it had occasionally been the case that a person on stage had to make an unscripted exit to be pinned back in to their garments.
The best of our costumes came from dresses we had altered, either our own personal castoffs, or remnants of Mother’s career before she found Father and Parker. Although she minded the slight drop in personal circumstances, she only mentioned it once or twice a year, or when reviews were particularly bad, or when she didn’t get her own way when it came to direction.
I always enjoyed watching Annie and Mother cobble the costumes together, and I was sorry that my tears of the afternoon before had kept me from it for longer than I ought to have been. That felt like letting Bailey win, and I was damned if he was winning. Even though I didn’t really know what it was that we were playing.
I found them in Mother’s room, where the majority of the costumes were kept. Fabric of every imaginable colour lay over every conceivable surface. Annie was nested in the middle of it all with scissors and a beaten look, while Mother viewed the mess from her throne, her glass in her hand. An empty bottle stood beside her, and I was sure I could see the neck of another, toppled over, peeking from behind her chair.
Now the parts had been sorted it was Annie’s costume, as Belinda, which had to be the most lavish in appearance, but Mother’s narrator costume that must be the most cunning. And as I had predicted-
‘I will not be wearing a cape.’ Mother looked disgusted at the very idea. She swirled the contents of her champagne glass with menace. ‘My audience do not come to see Liberty Thompson wearing a cape. What on earth were you thinking, Evey?’
I sighed and sank back into the sofa. It was lumpy, as I was sitting on crumpled dresses which had been balled and discarded.
‘That the narrator is not traditionally supposed to detract from the action on stage. As you may recall I mentioned at the original read through. I did say that, you know.’
Mother arched a brow, enough to make even the meanest critic tremble. But not I. I was now made of solid rock, and would not be quailed by a mere brow.
‘Although,’ I continued, wearily. ‘I had feared that having you as the narrator would, by sheer force of your voice, distract from the central action you will be narrating. And.’ I added, deliberately nonchalant. ‘That was when we were considering having you offstage. Perhaps I was wrong to shelve that idea so soon.’
Mother shook her head.
‘No no no, that just won’t do.’ She leaned forward and looked at me as though I were simple. She sounded a little like she was chuckling at my foolishness when she continued, ‘I know you try hard darling, but you must remember that I do have so many more years of experience than you in the theatre.’
I was rattled.
‘I thought we weren’t allowed to mention those many years?’
Behind me, Annie giggled. Mother chose to ignore me, and tipped the remainder of her glass back.
‘Be that as it may,’ she said as she swayed slightly, and I knew we were in for trouble. Swaying while seated was never a good sign. ‘I know more about this than you, and that cannot be denied.’
Something inside me snapped.
‘You know more about getting yourself as much time centre stage as possible, Mother. I cannot argue with you there.’
I gathered my papers together in my lap and made ready to leave. There was no talking to her when she was drunk, and I had already gone further than I ought to.
‘It appals me how my child despises me so.’
‘Oh, Christ.’ I sank back into my seat. Now this had to be fixed.
Annie quickly gathered together the things she needed for Belinda’s costume, and made a swift exit. She left the door open, too, which was kind of her. An “exit, pursued by a bear” seemed likely.
‘After all I have done, still she defies me.’ Mother wandered over to the mantelpiece, where her bottle stood, half empty. Mother’s bottles were never half full. She sloshed it into the glass and it spilled over the side. She sucked her fingers before continuing. ‘I give her the gift of the theatre, but she turns her back on acting, on my dynasty. She ignores my advice, my wisdom, and shuns my care.’
I stood to leave. I’m not sure whether I would have, but I had little hope of talking her out of this mood. Not once she had started on how much of a disappointment I was.
‘No, don’t go.’ She reached out to me, but didn’t move from the fireplace. ‘I just – please don’t leave me alone.’
‘As you wish,’ I said with a heavy sigh.
‘That’s what happens, isn’t it? That I’ll end up alone. We’re all alone, when we die.’
I sank back into my seat. This wasn’t likely to be over quickly.
‘As I grow older, Evelyn, I become more and more and more aware of my own mortality. The lines on my face. The grey in my hair. The sagging, where once there was no sagging. Of course, childbirth did a lot of that to me.’
I closed my eyes and sat back.
‘I never wanted children, you know. But they said I should – it was expected. You get married, you have children, and it’s what women do, although as you know I have never aspired to be like other women. But now, look, my body ruined.’
She swung slightly and balanced her mouth on the rim of her glass, as though for stability.
‘I’m so sorry I ruined your figure.’ I said with as little expression as I was able.
‘Oh, good, you’re still here. For now, at least, but in the end, I am going to be alone, aren’t I? They’ll realise, one day, and soon probably. They’ll see the cracks in my powder. The stage light won’t hide it forever. There are less visitors to the dressing room every performance, did you know? I thought I could save it with Hamlet, that I could become a respected actor. But they all laughed at me.’ Her face dropped, a picture of despair. ‘Did you hear what they said? They were laughing when I walked on the stage. At first, when I saw it was a full house, I was pleased and I thought no, finally, it was going to go well. But they laughed. They came and they bought tickets and they queued up and waited to laugh at me.’
She wobbled and sank down to her knees, and I ran forward to catch her. We knelt together among the swathes of fabric. Her glass rolled away, dripping into the rug.
‘Oh, Evelyn, don’t you see? The acting was all I had. That’s why I can’t be Belinda. I can’t pretend to be young and beautiful anymore and I can’t have any of the good parts because they laugh at me.’
I held her close, and she sobbed into my shoulder.
‘You were wonderful as Hamlet,’ I said, completely sincere. ‘But they weren’t ready for you. Perhaps in another century, men will be able to see it for what it was, but not yet. I’m so sorry, Mother.’
She looked at me then, her big eyes glassy with tears. She was still so beautiful. So much more beautiful than I ever would be.
‘You’re aging so well,’ I said. ‘Your face has so much more character now and you are a better actress than ever.’
Mother grunted and sniffed loudly.
‘Who wants character? The world doesn’t want character. The Prince Regent has character, and his hideous wife, whatever her name is. Character is the word people use for the elderly and the ugly. Youth is what the world wants, but it runs out so fast.’ She reached up and cupped my cheek. ‘Enjoy your youth while you can, darling. Have as many men as you can and take any opportunities that come your way. Because it’ll all go, darling. And the men will dry up and you’ll be alone. Cracked and faded and alone.’
‘You aren’t alone,’ I said firmly, shaking her hand from my face. ‘I’ve seen the paintings from before I was born. You’re more beautiful than ever. Father paints you more than he ever has, doesn’t he?’
‘The lines on my face make me more interesting,’ she mumbled, but I knew it was only half-hearted. She knew he adored her, and would until he died.
‘And if one of the greatest painters in the land finds you so irresistibly lovely that he has to paint you, even while he has one of the most important commissions of his career to be getting on with, then you can’t be all that old and alone, can you?’
Mother sniffed again.
‘I suppose not.’
I squeezed her tightly, and she nestled her head against my shoulder.
‘Parker adores you, Jackson’s half in love with you and half afraid you’re so much more beautiful than he is. And while I’m alive, you won’t be alone. Nor the rest of The Liberty Troupe, either. We stay together. It’s what we’ve always done.’
And I hoped so much that it was true. But fractures were beginning to show, and tempers were fraying more than they had before. The bonds of the group had never been stretched so far, never put under so much pressure as they were with this, our biggest chance. Mother sighed gently, and I realised she was asleep. She probably wouldn’t remember much, if any of this when she woke in the evening, but hopefully she would remember enough to not be angry with me about her costume. She would be wearing a cape, and that was that.
*****
The damage done by the fire had, thankfully, been minimal. One puppet had been caught by the blaze, and while Andrew was still annoyed by this, he set to work immediately. I was on my way to see what progress he had made, when I heard noises coming from the props room. Inside I found Jackie, nursing a spectacular black eye.
‘Ouch,’ I said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. ‘That looks impressive.’
Jackie grunted.
‘I didn’t hit him back. I wanted to.’
‘I’m so proud of you, sweeting.’ I knelt beside him, by a large pile of odds and ends he appeared to be sorting through. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Assisting Andrew,’ Jackie said with a hiss. ‘I’m looking for another puppet for that damned set.’
I knew very well we didn’t have any more puppets, but wasn’t about to tell Jackie that. Far more punching would ensue than I was comfortable with. Neither the Baron nor Ariel could appear on stage with black eyes or injuries.
‘Ah. Well, keeps you busy I suppose.’
Jackie grunted again.
‘What have you done with Benny?’
‘Nothing, why?’
He shrugged.
‘Just that he’s not here. I was hoping he would be. He always cheers me up.’
I looked around, and sure enough, Benny was nowhere to be seen. I rose and peered behind a few of the taller piles and looked inside and behind the large wardrobe we had in there (one of Mother’s which had lost a leg).
‘I have absolutely no clue.’ Defeated, I returned to Jackie and absently patted him on the head. ‘Perhaps Andrew took him. Although God only knows why. I can’t think how he’d be useful in this one.’
‘Probably did it to spite me.’ Jackie pouted, but it didn’t look quite so adorable as usual, what with the bruised face.
‘Chin up darling.’ With one last pat I made my way to the door. ‘Good luck in the search. But if you can’t find it, don’t spend too long looking. Give it half an hour, perhaps? Father will be wanting you again soon, I’m sure.’
‘Ha,’ Jackie called after me. ‘He’d better not, he turned me away earlier.’
I made my way down the corridor with a frown. Parker’s fish tanks were due the next day, but without them to work from, Father should have been concentrating on the figure of Narcissus. He couldn’t do that without Jackie posing for him, which led me to believe that he must be working on something else. I didn’t really believe those other canvases were simply spares, for all that I was trying to convince myself. I ought to have tried and take a look at them, but there hadn’t been a time of more than five minutes together where Father had been out of his studio over the past few days, and I was beginning to think I should just ask him again.
I tapped on the studio door.
‘Go away,’ was the muffled reply.
I tapped again.
‘It’s Evey, Father.’
‘I do not wish to be disturbed,’ was his panicked response.
I reached for the door handle, and rattled it. He had locked himself in. I was rattled myself. He had never done that before, not that I could remember.
‘Father?’ I rattled the handle again.
‘Evelyn, please.’
I couldn’t force him to open it, and I found that I couldn’t force myself to be involved in Father’s drama. Not then - our first dress rehearsal was scheduled for the next day. In spite of my hopes to the contrary, Mother was still proving mutinous about the cape. My throat felt tight and I gripped the door handle tighter as I felt myself begin to slide off balance. There was just so much at stake. My brain felt hot and my skin cold and tight. No more, no more.
After a long moment of forced calm, I managed to ease my stiff fingers from the handle and made my shaky way downstairs, to the auditorium where Andrew was still working.
I found him up a ladder, leaning perilously over the middle of the frame and reaching for one of the hooks he had screwed in there. I walked down the rows of chairs noisily before I spoke, not wanting to surprise him and cause him to lose his balance. Forget black eyes, we could never disguise a broken leg with makeup.
‘How goes it?’
Andrew climbed down the ladder and wiped his brow with one of the rags from a pile on the floor.
‘Good. If we don’t have any more fires, and Jackie doesn’t take an axe to it, I should be finished in time.’
‘Hmm.’ I leaned behind the sheet to inspect the puppets and props. ‘It looks good. Unlike Jackie.’
Andrew didn’t even look sheepish.
‘He’ll be healed in time for opening night.’
‘I daresay. But in future, if you do feel the need to beat one another, can you keep it away from the face?’
Andrew snorted with laugher.
‘But beat one another, we may?’ He leaned against the frame and gave a conspiratorial wink. ‘You think he deserved it too.’
‘I refuse to dignify that with a response,’ I said, trying to keep the smile from twitching into the corners of my lips. ‘Merely, I would not dare intercede or try and prevent you two from punching one another.’
‘That’s very magnanimous of you.’
‘Well, who am I to keep you two from your hobbies?’
Andrew smiled, and his gaze flickered from my face to over my shoulder.
‘And who am I to keep you from yours?’
‘Hmm?’ I turned, and in the doorway at the back of the auditorium stood the unmistakable figure of Michael.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, turning to leave Andrew and his irritating grin. What I had to say to Michael was best not said before an audience, anyway.
I strode between the chairs, my head high and my heart hard. He watched me every step of the way, giving a weak, hopeful-looking smile as I approached.
‘My study, I think?’
I didn’t even pause as I passed him, but I knew he would follow me. I kept my head up and my back straight as a board as we made our way briskly up the stairs.
Once in my study, I seated myself behind the desk as regally as possible. Michael dallied by the door. I raised my brow at him.
‘I have a lot to do, you know.’
He cleared his throat, and then closed the door before sitting opposite me. He shuffled the chair a few times, then, just as I was beginning to lose my patience, finally spoke.
‘I ought not have spoken to you as I did last week.’
My brow remained high.
‘No, you ought not.’
He shuffled again.
‘It was wrong of me to imply that you were in some way… involved with or… pleased by the loss of your father’s sketchbook.’
‘Yes, it was.’
He sucked his lips between his teeth briefly before he continued.
‘I see now that you are… most likely not involved in either of those things.’
‘Quite rightly.’
I thought for a moment, carefully composing my reply. We really did need him onside for the duration of the exhibition’s run.
I leaned forward, never breaking eye contact.
‘Can you tell me what it was that brought about this change?’
Michael cleared his throat again, and his eyes flickered from mine, towards my bosom. He flushed red, and focussed instead on the end of my nose.
‘Further facts have come to light that – erm – that imply – that exonerate, that, erm-‘
I frowned and nibbled on the end of my finger. There were no pencils to hand for me to gnaw the end off.
‘You sound like a lawyer. It’s just a sketchbook, after all. Isn’t it?’
Michael ran a hand through his hair and looked worried.
‘Do you know Lindsey Elliot?’
I chewed my finger a little harder in thought.
‘He’s in the exhibition, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. And he’s been robbed.’
I leaned back in my chair again, troubled.
‘That wasn’t in the papers this morning.’
‘No,’ Michael said, his arms folded and his brow low. ‘It’ll be in tomorrow. I heard when I was in the office.’
‘What did they take?’
‘I don’t know yet. They’ve sent someone down to interview him, if they can. Word is he’s not one to talk to the press. Your real cloistered artist.’
‘I see.’
There were, what, ten, maybe twelve artists in the exhibition. The exhibition which was taking place in my theatre. I felt powerless and overwhelmed by this new press of worry. So I did what I always do when I don’t want to think, and when I want to feel in control. I leaned forward again, standing this time and leaning right across the desk, so I was scant inches from his face.
‘And what makes you so sure this is nothing to do with me?’
Michael flushed.
‘Nothing.’
I leaned a little closer.
‘Then what are you doing here?’
Michael leaned as far back as he could, but he was hampered by the back of the chair. I was just pleased my desk was a narrow one. I wouldn’t have looked half so polished if I’d had to mount it.
I reached out and put a finger beneath his chin, gently ensuring that he remained facing me.
‘Well?’ I asked.
He looked at my lips for a few moments.
‘I don’t want you to be.’
‘Oh?’
He looked me in the eyes then.
‘And since you probably aren’t, in spite of being one of the most manipulative, clever people I’ve ever met, that means you might be in danger.’
I gently pulled his face closer to mine, so our mouths were almost touching, and tilted my head to the side. I could feel his breath, shallow though it was, on my lips.
‘You’re here to rescue me?’ I asked, in a whisper.
He nodded, his eyes half closed.
‘Hmm.’
I pushed him away and sat back down. He blinked a few times and it was all I could do not to laugh in his face.
‘I’m not sure I deserved that,’ he said, still pink.
‘I don’t recall hearing an actual apology,’ I said. ‘And the fact remains that you still believe me capable of great wrongs, and are here only from some misguided sense of chivalry.’
‘When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound like an apology.’
‘Well?’
He opened his mouth and then closed it again.
‘I’m not going to lie to you,’ he said, finally. ‘I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know if you’re involved.’
He paused, awaiting a reaction from me. I said nothing, only nodded that he continue.
‘And I’m not going to tell you what I think might be happening, and I’m still going to be suspicious of you. But I need to be here to write my articles, and this is probably the best place to keep an eye on you. Either to catch you out, or to help you if anything bad happens.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘Is that everything?’
Michael blinked several times before replying.
‘I like you flirting with me. Might as well kill three birds with one stone while I’m here.’
I smiled.
‘Then I believe we can continue much as we did before.’
‘That was a lot easier than I expected.’
I raised my hand to stay him.
‘However, I do have several stipulations. Firstly, that your coverage of our troupe and my father’s painting continues to be uniformly positive.’
Michael nodded.
‘But of course. It would be any way.’
‘Secondly, that you do not communicate any of your suspicions or any sense of threat or danger to any member of this troupe.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘And thirdly, and most importantly,’ I leaned forward again to emphasise just how important this was. ‘Regardless of any suspicions you may have, or what you believe to be going on, you will in no way interfere in the running of this theatre, or the production of the play in it. Because believe you me, if anything goes wrong with our performance or Father’s work, and I think you have anything whatsoever to do with it, then you will be out on your ear with as much of a beating as Jackson can give you.’
Michael looked uncomfortable.
‘I imagine that would be quite a large beating, then.’
‘It certainly would.’
‘And I imagine that your seduction of me would also cease at that moment.’
‘I’m glad I’ve made myself clear.’ I leaned back again, this time with a smile. ‘So, now we have all that sorted, we can get on. You must be a few days behind with your latest article. Is there anything that would be useful for you to focus on?’
‘I’d like to focus on you,’ he said with as coy a smile as a gentleman can give. ‘But if you are busy then don’t worry, I’m sure I can make something up.’
‘I would hope you would make most of it up, since I am supposed to be a man.’