Chapter 16 #3
Hadrian grimaced as he held up his hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“I’m fine,” she said with a laugh. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
They arrived at the back of the theatre, where a door marked “stage” was illuminated by gaslight. Hadrian knocked and very shortly a squat fellow appeared. He wore a cap and squinted at them. He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed as he surveyed Hadrian.
“Good evening,” Hadrian said. “I’m Becket. My friend, Miss Wren, and I were greatly impressed by the fire effects in tonight’s performance, and we hoped to speak with the man responsible.”
“Jesson’d be happy to speak with ye,” the young man said with a quick smile. He invited them inside then closed the door. “’E’s our prop master and mechanist. Follow me, if ye will.”
They made their way through a labyrinth of corridors until they reached a small office. Through a doorway at the back, Hadrian saw into a large workroom which held a great many tools and props. A man a few years older than Hadrian sat at a desk and turned to face them as they entered.
“Jesson, this be Mr. Becket and his friend, Miss Wren,” the doorkeeper said. “They want to talk to ye about the fire.”
Jesson stood. He was a large man with broad shoulders and legs as thick as tree trunks. His presence immediately dominated the small office. It occurred to Hadrian that he would make a particularly fierce Spring-heeled-Jack.
The prop master inclined his head toward Hadrian. He had an extremely wide forehead and an almost unbelievably sharp, square jawline. “Happy to speak with ye.” He spoke in a distinctly East End manner like the doorkeeper.
When the doorkeeper didn’t immediately depart, Jesson waved him way. “Off with ye, Melvin.” He turned his attention to Hadrian and Tilda as the doorkeeper trudged off. “You enjoyed the show?” Jesson asked.
“Very much,” Tilda said with a smile. “We were hoping you might share how you created some of those effects.”
“Well, I can’t give too much away now,” Jesson replied with a chuckle.
“I’m particularly interested in how the one character seemed to make flame spring from their fingertips,” Tilda said.
Jesson nodded. “Aye, that’s a neat trick.
” He went to a table against the wall opposite the desk and picked up a wire contraption.
“This is what the actor wore.” The prop master held it to the ends of his first two fingers.
“Goes on here, but I can’t wear it because me hand’s too big.
I made it just for him.” He gestured to material at the end of the device.
“The cotton here is soaked with spirits of wine, then the actor lights it with a stationery taper that’s cleverly concealed onstage. ”
“I see,” Tilda said enthusiastically. “It ignites far enough away from his fingers that it doesn’t burn him.”
“That’s the idea,” Jesson replied. “We don’t use much of the spirits and it burns out fast.”
“Genius,” Hadrian said with a grin. “Do you often create devices for the effects on stage?”
“That’s a big part of me job.” Jesson stood straight, and Hadrian had to look slightly up at him.
Tilda held her hand out. “May I try it?”
Jesson handed her the device. “It’ll be too big for ye, but go on.”
She turned the item over in her hands. “I’d be afraid I’d burn myself,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“The seamstress would sew that to the end of a glove,” Jesson explained. “Some actors are afraid at first, but they learn the trick and overcome their fear. You would too,” he added with a wink.
It was ironic that Jesson mentioned actors, for Hadrian could tell Tilda was acting. She was so good at assuming a role when they made inquiries. Sometimes she did it to put people at ease and other times she was trying to obtain certain information with a role she was playing.
Tilda looked toward Hadrian and offered him the contraption. He considered removing his glove to potentially experience a memory, but he’d promised Tilda he wouldn’t. Furthermore, it was unlikely doing so would aid their case. Still, he wanted to look at the device and took it from her.
“Now, the gloves would be wool or leather—that’s important,” Jesson went on. “The costume designer and I work together to make sure costumes and equipment are safe. We always use wool or leather for anything to do with fire.”
“Not oilskin?” Hadrian asked.
Jesson laughed. “Bloody ’ell, no. The oil used to treat the fabric is flammable. We would never want an actor to wear that if ’e were handling flame.”
Hadrian glanced at Tilda. “Good to know.”
Perhaps Spring-heeled Jack hadn’t been wearing oilskin at all but leather. It wasn’t as if they could know for sure. They only had eyewitness accounts, not confirmation of the material.
“How do you conceive of these effects?” Tilda asked.
Jesson lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes it’s clear what we need to do.” He gestured toward the workroom. “Other times, I go into me workshop and experiment. Occasionally, I consult with other property masters. Nicholas Larkin over at the Albion is the best on the Strand.”
Tilda walked toward the workshop and peered inside. “Have you ever crafted something that would make it look as though a person were breathing flame?”
“Breathing? No.” Jesson responded. “Probably use a tube with a material soaked in spirits of wine. The actor’d blow through the tube and whoosh! Fire!” He gestured with his hands like an explosion and cackled.
Hadrian quashed a smile but exchanged a glance with Tilda.
“What about exaggerated movements, such as jumping high or long distances?” Tilda asked.
“Believe it or not, lighting is the best for most effects,” Jesson explained.
“And sound. When we use them together, they distract whilst we move someone or something in what appears to be a fantastical way. For jumping, I’ve used springs in boots.
That helps sell the effect. But, truly, ye need the lighting to increase the drama. ”
So long as they were inquiring about all of Spring-heeled Jack’s extraordinary traits, Hadrian asked, “How would you make someone’s eyes glow red?” Though Spring-heeled Jack hadn’t done that yet in his new incarnation, it had been reported thirty years ago, and he was curious.
Jesson narrowed his eyes briefly. “Sounds like ye’re asking about Spring-heeled Jack. Ye think ’e’s a fraud?”
“We’re investigating Spring-heeled Jack and the kidnappings he’s committed,” Tilda replied. “I doubt very much he breathes fire or has red eyes or claws.”
“I agree with ye, but then I know how someone could make it look like that, so I’m more skeptical than most.” His expression turned grim for a moment.
“Me wife’s terrified he’s back. She was a wee thing when he was rampaging about, and the stories scared her something fierce.
” Jesson looked at Hadrian. “Are ye with the police? Pardon me for saying, but ye don’t seem like a constable to me and ye don’t sound like one. ”
“We work with the Met, not for it,” Tilda said.
“I’m glad if I can ’elp,” Jesson said. “To make eyes glow, ye’d use lighting.
When we want to give someone on stage an eerie appearance, we might flash a colored light across their face.
If I wanted me eyes to look red, I would use a bull’s-eye lantern with a red slide.
I’d hold it up like so.” He lifted his hand to his face.
“It would make me eyes reflect red. I don’t know if it would be convincing, especially outside a theatre where we’d use light and costuming to disguise the lantern.
But in a moment of fear or panic, someone might be fooled into thinking a person had red eyes. ”
Tilda smiled. “That is an excellent and satisfying explanation. You mentioned Larkin at the Albion as someone who is good at effects. Do—”
“Not good,” Jesson corrected gently. “The best.”
“Is there anyone else who’s nearly as good?”
“Wilmer at the Imperial, and perhaps Harris at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, but ’e’s pompous, and I wouldn’t ask ’im anything.” Jesson wrinkled his nose.
“Thank you, Mr. Jesson,” Tilda said. “You’ve been most helpful.”
“I hope ye catch the bloke,” he said. “It was one thing for ’im to go about frightening young ladies, but to kidnap and kill ’em—” He shook his head. “’Orrible business.”
“Agreed,” Hadrian said. “Thank you, Mr. Jesson.” He put his hand on the small of Tilda’s back as she turned, then escorted her from the prop master’s office. Looking about, he frowned slightly. “Now, we have to find our way out of here.”
“I think it’s this way.” Tilda led him along a corridor.
They turned a corner and came upon a space with several wooden pegs affixed to the wall from which hung a variety of costumes.
Hadrian froze. The smell of greasepaint permeated his senses, and the scent along with seeing the costumes reminded him of the memory he saw from the cloak.
He turned to Tilda. “This looks like the vision I saw from the cloak at Scotland Yard before I collapsed.” He gestured around. “There were costumes hanging on the wall like this and the smell of greasepaint.”
Tilda’s gaze took on a sheen of excitement. “This theatre, exactly?”
“I don’t think so. The wall in the memory was dark blue.” He looked at her with enthusiasm. “I’m confident the kidnapper is somehow involved with a theatre.”
“This is excellent,” Tilda said happily. “I hope Teague and Sergeant Wycombe were able to ascertain the theatre habits of the Alnwicks and Chadwicks. If so, that would help us narrow down where to investigate, because, as Teague said, there are simply too many theatres in London.”
Hadrian finally felt a modicum of satisfaction since they’d started this case. “This has been a fruitful excursion. Jesson’s explanations were most informative.”
“Indeed. It has me thinking the kidnapper could be someone like him. A property master or mechanist certainly has the necessary skills and knowledge.”
“I know you don’t mean Jesson in particular, but I confess that when I saw his size, I thought he’d make a fearsome Spring-heeled Jack.” Hadrian chuckled.
“He would, but is he light enough on his feet to make a convincing leap?” Tilda mused. “Not that Mr. Jesson is under investigation at this time.”
“Should he be?” Hadrian hoped not. He’d rather liked the man.
“If we find any clues that link him to Miss Chadwick or Lady Priscilla, yes. We’ll see what Teague and Wycombe are able to learn with regard to the Alnwicks’ and Chadwicks’ theatre connections.
” She cocked her head. “I found the costuming information interesting. I suspect the Spring-heeled Jack of thirty years ago might have been wearing leather, even though it was described as oilskin.”
“Agreed. That would have been safer for him if he was doing tricks with fire.”
“Let’s find our way out,” Tilda said, moving to another corridor that ultimately took them back to the rear stage door. The doorkeeper was still there.
The doorkeeper grinned at them, revealing a gap next to his top front teeth. “Did you learn all the secrets?”
“Not all, but it was most illuminating,” Hadrian replied. “Thank you for introducing us to Mr. Jesson.”
“’Appy to be of help.” He opened the door for them, and Hadrian quickly escorted Tilda to the front of the theatre. The air was quieter as the crowd that had departed the theatre following the performances was now gone.
When they reached Hoxton Street where the coach was parked, Leach jumped down to greet them.
“Is all well?” Hadrian asked.
Leach nodded. “Quite. Haven’t heard a peep from Mrs. Wren. How did things go inside?”
“Excellent,” Hadrian replied. “This was a very productive evening, as well as most agreeable.” He smiled at Tilda. “Did you enjoy the play?”
“I did. In fact, for a short time, I forgot we were here to make inquiries. I’ve only ever seen a few plays, and I liked it more than I remembered. I know my grandmother had a wonderful time.”
“Glad to hear it,” Leach said as he opened the door to the coach.
Hadrian helped Tilda inside, then followed her into the coach. Right away, he heard soft snores coming from the rear-facing seat. Mrs. Wren rested against the side of the coach, a blanket covering her lower half. She appeared to be asleep.
Tilda turned her head toward Hadrian and put her finger to her lips. Hadrian nodded with a faint smile.
They began moving, and though Hadrian always wanted to talk with Tilda, he found he was enjoying the silence with her too. He reached for her hand, but she pulled away from him and inclined her head toward her grandmother, her eyes communicating that they weren’t alone.
Hadrian shrugged and mouthed, “She’s sleeping.”
Tilda pursed her lips slightly and glanced at her grandmother. When she looked back at Hadrian, her brow puckered a moment. Finally, she took his hand. He squeezed her gently and smiled. They rode all the way back to Marylebone like that, and when they arrived, he released her with reluctance.
Leach opened the door and Hadrian climbed down as Tilda woke her grandmother.
“Oh,” Mrs. Wren said sheepishly. “I must have fallen asleep. Dear me. Did you have success?” she asked as Hadrian helped her from the coach.
“I’d say so,” Hadrian replied.
She looked up at him. “See you in the morning.”
He nodded. “Sleep well. Good night, Mrs. Wren,” he said to her grandmother.
Tilda took her grandmother’s arm, and they walked toward the house. Vaughn had the door open for them before they reached the stoop.
“Seems as though you had a pleasant evening, my lord,” Leach said.
“We did.” Hadrian smiled the whole way home.
He could become used to many nights like this. Indeed, he would be overjoyed to have them for the rest of his life.