Chapter Seventeen
If thy Cast be bad, mend it with good Play.
“No, no, no, Mr. Midgecomb,” trilled Jane Eveleigh, skimming to his side to take his arm and guide him to his place. “You may menace them, but only with your looks and your arm movements. You are never to cross this imaginary line, you understand.”
“Forgive me, Puck. The music you have chosen is so lively I cannot seem to help moving in time to it, especially with you and Titania and the four fairies flitting about.”
“Naughty man,” his Puck replied with a wag of her finger.
“And do try to look fiercer. Remember how angry you are with your queen. You have been at daggers drawn for months.” Clapping her hands, Miss Eveleigh rounded on the rest of her would-be corps de ballet.
“Let us try it again. Annabel, may we have it from the beginning?”
Obediently Miss Jarvis recommenced Thomas Arne’s “Where the Bee Sucks” on the instrument.
In choosing the music for the fairy dance, Miss Eveleigh solicited suggestions from every member of the cast, making what Maria called a “great fuffle” and engaging in extended raillery with the gentleman (or at least with Mr. Midgecomb and Mr. Tilson, for Mr. Hearne never appeared to understand her teasing).
It had been Frances who suggested the song from The Tempest, but Jane showed no inclination to select it “because that was written for Ariel, and Ariel is not Puck, you know.” A day later, however, she found Mr. Hearne of all people seated at the pianoforte, playing the melody with one hand and whistling along.
When she marveled to discover him thus occupied and accused him of hiding his talents, he replied mournfully, “I never do play, really. But when reminded of the song I suddenly longed to hear it again. And now I think it must always have been a favorite of mine.” That was enough.
Jane announced it must be “Where the Bee Sucks” because Mr. Hearne insisted, and, furthermore, it was perfect because Ariel and Puck were quite similar, being both airy spirits in service to magical beings.
Frances might have resented this turnabout more, except it must be admitted her delight in friendship with Jane Eveleigh had palled, and Jane seemed equally discontented with her.
Not only did it annoy Frances to watch Jane fawn upon Mr. Hearne, but Frances’ own hot-and-cold efforts toward Mr. Midgecomb and then Mr. Tilson must have annoyed Jane in return.
The two girls did not discuss it, of course, each having drawn back from further shows of intimacy, but it was plain to Frances that Jane now intended to win all the gentlemen for herself.
She might choose Mr. Hearne in the end, but she would invite offers from all three.
With speeches learned, real rehearsals had begun in the long gallery of Greenwood Hall, with the whole cast gathered whenever possible.
The stage constructed by the carpenters anchored one end of the space, before which hung the new baize curtains, and off to one side now stood the pianoforte, wrestled over from the drawing room by the servants.
Jane had taken enthusiastically to her new responsibility as dance director, telling Frances, “I confess now that I was vexed when you forced the gentlemen to name you an assistant acting manager! Too many cooks, in my opinion. But now you see I have my own particular duties, and apart from Mr. Hearne saying Oberon and Titania must be at odds, and that the entire dance should be no longer than a minute, I answer to no one.”
They began again, Titania floating in as Moth, Mustardseed, Peaseblossom, and Cobweb circled her, Oberon scowling appropriately and sweeping his arms in a threatening manner, while Puck flew back and forth between the camps, miming laughter at Titania and favoring Oberon with mischievous little pouts and coaxing gestures.
(“How did this dance come to be all about Puck?” Maria complained later.
“It’s fifteen seconds of us coming in and then forty-five seconds of watching her scamper about, making faces!
”) For something so short, it required many repetitions to satisfy Jane, and the dancers grew more self-conscious with each additional spectator who stole in: the Eveleighs, Mrs. Dere, Mrs. Barstow, and the rector’s wife Mrs. Terry.
“Gracious,” said Frances to their audience, when Jane at last declared herself content and gave them permission to move on. “You can’t all watch now, or you will be sick of the play by the official performance.”
“I think we’ve shown remarkable forbearance,” answered Mrs. Terry, “in letting you go this long without coming. I would have come three days ago, but Mrs. Eveleigh discouraged me, saying Mr. Midgecomb stopped you all every thirty seconds to tell you where you ought to be standing and what you ought to be doing.”
“And so I have, madam,” said the acting manager. “A play where everyone merely emerged on his cue and stood there, reciting, would be dull indeed. But we are reviewing what we have marked so far before proceeding to Act Four.”
“Have you set a date for the actual performance?” asked Mrs. Terry. “I would be a rich woman if I had a sixpence for every time I’ve been asked.”
Mr. Midgecomb gave his usual glance at Mr. Hearne but then answered, “We thought in a fortnight, on the Saturday.”
“And still just for our little community?” she pursued. “The families here, the Chaunceys, the Lanes, Mrs. Bellew…? What of the doctor Mr. Travers and his wife?”
“I suppose the Traverses may be invited,” said Mrs. Dere, in a tone which implied that they would mark the farthest limit of social condescension.
Mrs. Terry’s brow lifted. “You know, Mrs. Dere, those we have named will make for an audience scarcely larger than the cast itself. Moreover, if we are so exclusive, there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth in Iffley, I promise you. Why, poor Mrs. Lamb the postmistress will likely plant herself right outside the windows to do her share.”
“Mrs. Lamb? Mrs. Lamb, indeed! Inviting Mrs. Lamb would be unthinkable!” Mrs. Markham Dere drew herself up at this. “If we intended to ask every Tom, Dick and Harry, we might as well print handbills and put up placards.”
“Mrs. Lamb is herself a walking handbill,” Frances grinned. “If our goal were to attract universal fame, she would be invaluable.”
“Now, now,” Mrs. Terry chided, consulting Mrs. Dere again. “Come, Alice. She is but one woman.”
“One woman who makes everyone’s business her own,” Mrs. Dere retorted.
“No, I’m afraid it will never do, Mrs. Terry.
” Of course Mrs. Dere’s word was final in Iffley, but as a concession the great woman turned to where the gentlemen were politely waiting for the conversation to end so they might proceed.
“It will not be just those few village friends in the audience,” she informed them graciously.
“Mr. Eveleigh has also invited two dons from Oriel who have known Miss Eveleigh all her life, and perhaps you young gentlemen might like to add a guest or two as well? It can be a delicate matter, considering your acquaintances would be unknown to the young ladies here, but…”
“Thank you, madam,” Mr. Midgecomb said with a bow.
“We did discuss this and intended to ask if room might be found for a pair of our fellow Students, as it were. A Mr. Alan Drummond, a highly respectable clergymen and senior fellow, and a younger one who is a great lover of theatre and who had hopes of being in our summer production, one Mr. Pendergast.”
Frances drew a sharp breath, her eyes flying to Mr. Hearne. “Mr. Pendergast! Wasn’t he the one who was to play Titania?”
“The same,” he said blandly. “He would have been our ‘Titania of the tennis courts,’ had we produced the play in Oxford as we originally planned.”
“Oh, dear. I do not mind him coming to watch, of course, but I hope he will not blame me for stealing his part.”
Mr. Hearne’s beautiful brow creased in thought. “Well. I suppose there’s a chance he might throw something at you. A tomato, perhaps. Or an egg at the utmost.”
No one had ever heard Mr. Hearne jest before, apart from when he read Bottom’s speeches, which hardly counted because that was playing a part; therefore his remark met with silence.
An uncertain silence which stretched, until broken by a high-pitched heeeeeeeeem!
like wind escaping a bladder. The source of the noise was Mr. Tilson, it happened, and Frances realized he was attempting to smother a laugh.
“He’s cracking a joke!” he explained, giving way to his amusement. “For heaven’s sake. Tell them, Adam.”
“Tell them what?”
“Oh, Mr. Hearne!” cried Jane, free now to unleash her own cascade of giggles. “You must do it more often. I had thought you could only read jokes which were already written for you, but now I see you can invent your own. It is delightful. Ha ha ha!”
Frances thought poor Mr. Hearne must feel like a baby who had just taken his first unaided, staggering steps, only to have everyone around him inexplicably run riot. Unlike the baby, however, he did not shrink or cry at the fuss, but only received it all with perfect blankness.
Miss Eveleigh would have to settle for the compensating delight of having annoyed Mr. Midgecomb with her attention to his friend, for the acting manager now balled his hands in fists and said crossly, “Very well, if Hearne is quite through entertaining us, shall we continue, taking it up immediately after the conclusion of the dance? Miss Barstow, my Titania, if you are ready to be ill met by moonlight again…”