Chapter Eleven #2
She began with staring at Mr. Midgecomb while he read, and when he finished dealing with the Athenians and looked her way to say, “‘Come, my Hippolyta. What cheer, my love?’” she ducked her head and smirked.
“I am glad he need not say such things to me,” murmured Jane Eveleigh.
“Because you would blush?” asked Frances, wishing she could do so herself.
“Because it would take him at least a half hour to get the words out,” Jane returned. “You saw how merely pronouncing ‘Philostrate’ became a Herculean labor.”
That made Frances laugh, but she quickly choked it down, answering, “That is because he is besotted with you! How I wish—that is, I wonder what it is like to be so favored.”
“I did think, if he were not the acting manager, I would suggest that I trade parts with Mrs. Langworthy,” said Jane. “Then he would not have the difficulty of trying to speak to me onstage.”
“Well, he is the acting manager and would not like to give those speeches up,” Frances observed. “And we’ve already said that Puck is too large a part for the time Sarah may give to it. Do you not think he reads very well, when he is not speaking to you?”
“Oh, yes. I have no fault to find with him then.”
Frances hoped she had made a start and could be quiet for a time, the Athenians yielding to the mechanicals. And then she forgot all about Mr. Midgecomb in hearing Mr. Hearne read.
He never once lifted his eyes from the book in his hands, and he read slowly, as one might expect, but, for all that, he amazed her. Because he read the character of Bottom with such slyness and playful pomposity, Frances was not the only one to have laughter startled from her.
More than that, there was something in his voice, something rich and low and musical which held her spellbound.
Not only her.
When he said, “‘I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you an ’twere any nightingale,’” Frances felt a shiver streak through her, and Mrs. Dere leaned forward again to say, “Truly! How well he reads!”
“‘You can play no part but Pyramus,’” Peter declared as Peter Quince, sounding almost squeaky in comparison. “‘For Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man as one shall see in a summer’s day; a most lovely gentlemanlike man: therefore you must needs play Pyramus.’”
“I never once thought of Bottom as handsome before,” whispered Jane in her ear, “but do you think Mr. Midgecomb chose Mr. Hearne for the role because of his appearance? One always thinks of Bottom with the ass’s head, and never without.”
Indeed.
But then Frances must dismiss these thoughts and rise again for her next scene, where Oberon and Titania wrangle over the changeling child.
With all eyes upon them she did her best to keep hers fixed on Mr. Midgecomb, to frown when he frowned and to look encouraging when he stumbled over his speeches with Puck.
And though she did not once look his way nor speak to him, Frances could not but be aware of Mr. Hearne in his chair beside her, following along in the book, tracing his finger along the lines and, for all she knew, mouthing the words.
When their own scene arrived, and Titania “awoke” to find Bottom singing, Frances was glad to stare at her own book and declare the fairy queen’s affections to the printed page.
Nevertheless her voice cracked when she said, “‘I do love thee. Therefore go with me,” she was forced to clear her throat.
The blush which flooded her cheeks she prayed might be attributable to any maiden made to repeat such things before others, but nevertheless when it came time to speak to Oberon again, Frances tried to inject similar consciousness into “‘My Oberon, what visions I have seen!’” and to peep at him and shrink back bashfully.
At last, at last, the reading concluded, to general applause and a call for refreshments.
“I have made many notes on the costumes,” Sarah told the company, “and I see that Bottom refers to Mustardseed and Cobweb as ‘monsieurs’ and Peaseblossom as ‘cavalery,’ so do you suppose all the fairies should be male?”
“Not Moth!” protested Maria, thinking of the flowers she would stitch on her wings in spangles. You may wear a moustache, Sarah, but let Moth be a girl.”
“Very well, but you will be jealous of the waistcoats I make of silver tissue.”
Glass of lemonade in hand, Mr. Midgecomb was gazing at Jane Eveleigh when Mr. Hearne waved a folded paper at him. “You dropped this, Midge.”
“What? I never.” But he unfolded it and quickly changed his tune. “That’s right. Er—here I’ve made up a rehearsal schedule, it not being very efficient to gather the entire company every time for long periods.” He frowned at it and held it out to Mr. Hearne, pointing at something and muttering.
“For Mrs. Langworthy,” said Mr. Hearne, smiling sweetly. “You thought it would be easier for Mrs. Langworthy if the mechanicals and Titania and fairies practiced at Iffley Cottage.”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Midgecomb again. “So I did.”
As on the day he presented the cast list, the others crowded around. Frances saw that, in the first week, she would have a few morning sessions at Greenwood Hall with the Athenians to rehearse the openings of Acts I and V, but that otherwise she would be at home for her Titania role.
“How convenient you have made it, Mr. Midgecomb!” she praised him, genuinely pleased. “By breaking it up thus, we all have many periods of the day free for the learning of our speeches and the making of costumes and properties.”
“Will there be a room available for the purpose, Miss Barstow?” asked Mr. Hearne. “Midge does not always think of these things.”
“The parlor will have to do. It will be a crush, but it is not as if we have not stuffed ourselves in before, when my sisters and their husbands have all come to visit.”
“Mm—if I might say something,” ventured Mrs. Eveleigh, “I see you have designated a time for Oberon and Puck to rehearse, but as they are the only ones written down…alone…might they not be grouped with others in all cases? With the fairies or with the Athenians in the wood, when those groups are practicing?”
“Oh, yes. Indeed. Of course, Mrs. Eveleigh. I did not intend anything—er—yes. Let us do exactly as you say.” Red as a lobster, Mr. Midgecomb slapped his pockets for a pencil, and when Mr. Hearne passed him one, he scribbled on the sheet.
“Perfect,” Mrs. Eveleigh beamed upon him.
“Though we are not forbidden to attend any rehearsals, I hope,” put in Mrs. Dere, a faint line marring her noble brow as her gaze drifted from Frances to Mr. Midgecomb. “I know Mrs. Terry has already asked, and I, for one, feel great interest.”