Mrs Smith, the eponymous proprietress of the Select Guest House, the accommodation where Ashto and Atia had been living for the last six months, knocked on the door of their room.
‘Good morning, Mrs Smith, what can I do for you?’ said the First Commander as he opened the door and acknowledged the somewhat breathless landlady who proceeded to hand him an envelope.
‘Oh, Mr Ashton, this letter has just arrived by special courier – it’s addressed to you and your good lady wife,’ said Mrs Smith, obviously excited by the first special courier ever to call at her establishment.
‘Thank you very much, Mrs Smith. I do hope the climb up the staircase has not tired you too much?’ said Ashto.
‘Well, to tell you the truth, Mr Ashton, this damp weather is not good either for me chest or me arthritis,’ she said while trying to look past the large figure of the First Commander and peer into the room.
‘Well, I do hope you feel better very soon, Mrs Smith. Good day for now and thank you for delivering this letter so promptly,’ said Ashto beginning to close the door. Mrs Smith, who had been hoping to discover the identity of the sender of the letter, looked disappointed that no more information about the communication would be forthcoming and momentarily thought about putting her foot in the doorway to stop its closure but reluctantly thought it best not to perform such an action.
‘What is that, Trevor?’ said Atia who sat at the desk reading one of the day’s newspapers.
‘A communication from Mr Stoker of the Lyceum theatre,’ said Ashto quickly opening the letter and reading from it. ‘It is an invitation for both of us to dine with him on Sunday evening.’
‘How very pleasant,’ said Atia. ‘Where will this dinner take place, Trevor?’
‘According to this letter actually at the theatre itself which has a bespoke dining room that is, according to Mr Stoker, very well regarded.’
‘How thoughtful of Mr Stoker to invite us. He has done so, I imagine, to make up for our recent experience with the young female pickpocket. How did he know where to find us?’
‘If you remember, Margot, I left one of my cards on his desk. I thought that having a contact such as a theatre manager in the West End could be quite valuable to us in terms of our continuing researches.’
Atia looked thoughtful. ‘Trevor, in the light of this invitation I do believe I should purchase a new outfit of clothes to wear for the occasion. Can we visit Liberty’s later today?’
Ashto smiled indulgently. ‘Yes, Margot, I think that would be a very good idea. I will make sure that I replicate a large number of gold sovereigns before we go!’
That evening Ashto glanced around the large dining room he had just entered through an impressive gothic style doorway. Oak panelled and hung with many paintings and photographs, with a fire blazing away in a huge fireplace at one end of the room and a suit of medieval armour in one of its corners, it was much larger than either of the two Jaran explorers had expected.
‘Welcome to the Beefsteak Room, Mr and Mrs Ashton, we are so pleased to see you again,’ said Mr Stoker who had led them into the theatre’s private dining room, ‘you will not yet have met Mr Henry Irving I think.’
‘No indeed,’ said Ashto shaking the hand of the acclaimed actor, ‘we were very pleased to see your wonderful performance as Shakespeare’s Macbeth recently, Mr Irving.’ Ashto looked at the tall figure (for an Earth human) of Britain’s most famous and lauded actor; a gaunt and austere looking person who had the most piercing eyes that Ashto had seen in his time on this planet.
Irving smiled at the Jaran Commander before switching his attention to Apprentice Commander Atia. ‘My dearest lady,’ he said grasping her hand and kissing it in a gesture that Atia had not yet experienced on the planet Earth, or anywhere else for that matter. ‘I do hope that you are now fully recovered from the terrible experience with the female thief recently. Mr Stoker told me all about the incident. All of us at the Lyceum theatre were mortified that something so dire should happen to one of our own patrons, particularly one so divinely beautiful as yourself.’ Irving kissed Atia’s hand again holding on to it for an extended period before finally letting go.
In spite of herself, Atia blushed. This man, this middle aged actor, was possibly the most charming, charismatic and theatrical man she had ever met. ‘Please do not concern yourself with my welfare, Mr Irving, I am far too naturally resilient to have been affected to any great degree by the unfortunate incident.’
‘I am very pleased to hear that and I’m so gratified that you have accepted our invitation to dine with us this evening in my inner sanctum as it were. Please, Mr and Mrs Ashton, come take your seats at the table.’
Atia and Ashto were directed to the long dining table that sat in the centre of the room. The three men waited for Atia to be seated before they themselves sat down. Atia was seated next to Henry Irving and opposite Ashto who sat next to Mr Stoker. Atia smiled and looked around at the room, which was situated in the backstage area of the theatre. Despite being windowless the dining room, with its many framed pictures on the wall did not have an oppressive atmosphere but like Fortescues’ restaurant had a warm and friendly ambience that Atia appreciated. Henry Irving noticed that Atia was looking at a particular painting set in a recess on the wall opposite where she sat.
‘Ah, dear lady, you have noticed the portrait of yours truly in my younger days.’
‘I have indeed, Mr Irving. It is a very fine portrait. Who is the artist responsible for painting it?’
‘Mrs Ashton, I am surprised that you do not recognise the style of Mr Whistler who I believe is one of your countrymen. I sat for him a number of years ago and that portrait is the result. I do cherish it; hopefully you do not think that too conceited of me?’
‘Indeed not, Mr Irving, I must say it captures your inner energy very well.’
‘Thank you, dear lady, that is so very kind of you to say so. May I offer you a glass of wine?’
Atia smiled and nodded and Irving called over the waiter who stood in the corner of the room. ‘Champagne please James, the ’79 I think.’ The waiter nodded and brought over one of the bottles that had been standing in ice buckets on a small table in one of the room’s recesses and proceeded to fill the glasses of the four at the table.
‘A toast is called for I believe,’ said Irving in his deep, stentorian voice. ‘To Mr and Mrs Ashton, our guests from the United States, and to all their fellow patrons of theatres everywhere.’
The four lifted their glasses and drank. It was Atia and Ashto’s first experience of drinking champagne. They caught each other’s eyes across the table and smiled. Since arriving on the Earth the two Jarans had enjoyed wine on a number of occasions and had developed a certain tolerance for alcohol, which was not usually the case where Jaran physiology was concerned.
‘Do you and your wife often attend the theatre when you are at home in America?’ said Mr Stoker looking at First Commander Ashto who was a little taken aback by the question. Information about theatres in the United States had not been something he had researched. He looked a little lost for a second or two but Atia came to the rescue. ‘We have to admit, Mr Stoker, that it has only since we have been residing in London that we have taken to visiting the theatre. We will doubtless continue to do so once we return to New York City, our place of residence in America.’
‘That is very gratifying to hear for those of us in the theatrical world,’ said Stoker, smiling. Mr Irving and I have toured your native country and we were extremely impressed by the high regard that theatres were held in New York and in other places in the United States.’
The conversation was interrupted by a second waiter who entered from a door that obviously led to the nearby kitchen and presented Henry Irving with a piece of paper. ‘Ah, tonight’s menu has arrived. I shall crave your indulgence, Mr and Mrs Ashton, and read it out. The soup course will be Consommé à la Brunoise. That will be followed by Filets de Soles frits au Buerre and Côtelette d’Agneau grille, served with Pommes de Terre and Champignons. Dessert will be Soufflé Glacé aux Fraises. Where on earth chef obtains strawberries from at this time of the year is anyone’s guess,’ said a chuckling Henry Irving. Ashto looked rather mystified and Atia hoped he was not going to comment on the unfamiliar sounding items read out by Mr Irving.
‘That sounds marvelous, Mr Irving. You really are spoiling us,’ said the First Commander.
‘Think nothing of it,’ replied Irving. ‘After the events of the other day it is the very least we could do for you and your dear wife.’
‘Do we know anything more about the woman who attempted to rob me?’ said Apprentice Commander Atia.
‘Only that the woman, who goes by the name of Kate Williams apparently, is an inveterate pickpocket and that she and her accomplice, John Norris the police informed us, have been doing this sort of thing for a number of months, targeting innocent patrons in theatres that is. We are all relieved that such ne’er-do-wells are now safely locked away, hopefully for a very long time,’ said Irving.
‘I find that it is a great pity that some people, due to poverty in most cases, are driven to such criminal behaviour. I feel that as a society we ought to attempt to rehabilitate such individuals and set them on a more constructive pathway rather than simply punish them as harshly as possible,’ said Atia.
‘It does you great credit, Mrs Ashton, to express such humanitarian feelings but I think you are letting your natural feminine sensitivity lead you to that erroneous conclusion. Believe me, dear lady, if the arm of the law does not come down as hard as possible on such errant criminal behaviour then we might as well bid adieu to any form of civilized society,’ replied Irving.
‘With all due respect, Henry, I believe that I agree wholeheartedly with Mrs Ashton. We should as a country give such criminals every chance for redemption,’ said Mr Stoker.
‘Ah, Bram, spoken like a true writer of fiction!’ said Irving smiling benignly.
‘You are a writer too?’ inquired Ashto.
‘Yes, Mr Ashton, in my own small way I am. I have had published a number of short stories and one novel to date. Nothing as ambitious as the voluminous travel guide I believe you are currently in the process of researching, however. My work as the business manager at the Lyceum keeps me very busy and so I usually only write when I take some leave from my duties working for Mr Irving.’
‘Tell me, Mr Stoker,’ said Atia, ‘do I detect an Irish lilt in your mode of speech? I once knew someone from that particular part of Britain who had a similar accent.’
‘Indeed, Mrs Ashton, you are correct; I do come from Ireland. I was born in Dublin and attended Trinity College before moving to London with my wife, Florence. It was my great fortune to meet Mr Irving the owner of this theatre and to begin working with him here.’
‘Mr Stoker underplays his importance to the running of the Lyceum,’ interjected Henry Irving. ‘He is invaluable to the smooth and efficient management of this theatre, which would not be half as successful as it is without his work here.’
The red bearded Bram Stoker smiled in a surprisingly shy manner. ‘As always,’ he replied, ‘Henry overstates my contribution to the success of the Lyceum, but I am extremely grateful for his hyperbole.’
The conversation was interrupted by one of the waiters who appeared from the kitchen and who looked inquiringly at Henry Irving. ‘Excuse my intrusion, Mr Irving, but chef would like to know if His Royal Highness is due to join you again this evening?’
‘Not this evening, Morris, he has other duties apparently.’
‘Thank you, sir, shall we begin to serve the soup course now?’
‘Yes please, Morris, I am sure our guests are looking forward to sampling the fare that chef is going to provide for us this evening.’
‘His Royal Highness?’ inquired Atia her large eyes wider than ever as she addressed Henry Irving.
‘The Prince of Wales does occasionally dine with us in the Beefsteak Room. Often he just turns up, to the chagrin of Mr Renfield, our chef,’ said Irving, smiling.
‘And the Princess of Wales accompanies him too I assume,’ said Atia.
Irving turned a slight shade of red. ‘Er no, Mrs Ashton, he is normally accompanied by one of … er, his special female friends.’
‘Oh, I see,’ replied Atia, smiling a little at Irving’s uncharacteristic show of embarrassment.
‘Ah, here comes the soup,’ said Irving, pleased that the subject under discussion could now be changed.
The occupants of the dining room were eager to begin eating it now being late in the evening. Ashto and Atia were soon somewhat relieved that its French title had disguised the fact that in front of them was a superior tasting soup made with a number of different vegetables.
When the soup course was finished and after the waiters had collected bowls and cutlery Mr Stoker continued the conversation: ‘As well as the Prince of Wales joining us from time to time we regularly entertain a number of other distinguished guests here.’
‘It is unlikely that we as citizens of the United States will be au fait with them, Mr Stoker.’ (Ashto was inwardly extremely pleased that he was able to use a French expression he had recently learned.)
‘Well, some of those who regularly dine with us have international reputations I believe. Hall Caine the famous novelist is a regular guest of ours and I am sure that you must have heard of the writer Oscar Wilde, with whom I was acquainted with at Trinity College and who, I am pleased to say, remains a personal friend of mine to this day. Wilde’s witty asides, as well as his insightful views on many subjects including the theatre, are most edifying and entertaining,’ said Mr Stoker.
‘We have indeed heard of Mr Wilde,’ said Atia, ‘and I would very much like to meet the gentlemen.’
‘Well, in that case dear lady you must dine with us again and we will also invite Mr Wilde as well,’ said Irving.
‘I believe that Oscar actually toured your country several years ago. Were you, by chance, able to attend any of the lectures he gave there?’ said Stoker.
‘We did not, unfortunately,’ said Atia. ‘We have only become aware of Mr Wilde’s reputation as a writer since arriving in London last summer. We would certainly be very keen to meet him.’
‘Then, my dear lady I am sure that Mr Stoker will arrange it.’ Stoker smiled and nodded in agreement at Irving’s suggestion.
‘I will certainly do that, just as soon as I return from a brief holiday my wife and I are due to embark upon in a few days’ time,’ said Mr Stoker.
‘And where are you and your wife holidaying, Mr Stoker?’ said Ashto.
‘We have a number of favourite places where we endeavour to spend our leisure time, Mr Ashton. One of them is the Yorkshire coastal town of Whitby. We try to travel there two or three times each year. I find the town is extremely conducive to my writing and my wife, even in these winter months, likes to exercise by taking bracing walks along the town’s promenade each morning. We also enjoy walking to Whitby’s ruined abbey, which involves a rather long climb up some steps, all one hundred and ninety nine of them.’
‘And you say you spend some of your time there engaged in writing?’
‘Indeed, Mr Ashton I do. We usually stay at The Royal Hotel in Whitby in the West Cliff area of the town. I find the upstairs lounge at the hotel is a quiet place where I can settle down to several hours writing each morning as long I can draw myself away from the wonderful view one is provided with from that location.’
‘It sounds very restful, Mr Stoker,’ said Ashto.
‘Indeed it is, Mr Ashton, a very pleasant place to visit away from the hustle and bustle of the capital. In fact it would very much be the ideal location for you and your dear lady wife to undertake some of your researches for a short time. Not everything that is of import in this country takes place in London you know.’
‘If I were you,’ said Henry Irving who had, along with Atia, been listening to the conversation of the two men, ‘I would be very tempted to accompany Mr and Mrs Stoker on their trip north. They are extremely convivial company and your researches would, I believe, Mr Ashton, benefit from a change of scenery.’
‘A capital idea,’ said Mr Stoker, whose eyes had brightened at the prospect of showing the two Americans around one of his favourite places in the whole of the British Isles.
‘I… we would be only too pleased to accompany you and your wife on such a trip in the future, Mr Stoker,’ said Atia.
‘Well there’s no need to put such a venture off, dear lady. The pair of you could come with my wife Florence and me in our upcoming journey. We will show you the sights of Whitby and you will also find plenty of occasions to write copious notes about what you observe. I can assure you that visitors from your fine country would find the coastal air of the town very bracing and healthy.’
Atia shared a quick glance at Ashto who smiled back at her. ‘That is a very generous offer, Mr Stoker. My wife and I would be only too pleased to accompany you and Mrs Stoker to Whitby,’ said Ashto.
‘Wonderful. Let us drink to our forthcoming trip,’ replied Bram Stoker as he raised his glass of wine to the two Jaran travellers. The business manager of the Lyceum smiled at Atia who became aware that he looked at her in what she could only describe as a somewhat lascivious way. It was a look and attitude that the Apprentice Commander had grown quite used to since she and the First Commander had begun to interact with Earth males. I must remember to not in any way encourage that sort of thing, thought Atia.
The remainder of the evening proceeded extremely convivially with Ashto and Atia enjoying the conversation and the fine food. The insights they gathered from the two, rather gossipy well-connected theatre men were invaluable to them and hopefully would be of great interest to their superiors back on Jara.
Later, back in their modest room at Mrs Smith’s Select Guest House, the Jaran pair reflected on their evening.
‘It will be an interesting experience to leave London for a while and explore another part of Great Britain,’ said Atia.
‘It certainly will, Margot. It will add a useful extra dimension to our researches.’
‘What are your thoughts about Henry Irving, Trevor?’
‘Hm, very charismatic, expressive and rather full of himself of course; he is obviously very well suited to his chosen theatrical profession.’
‘Agreed, Trevor, and Mr Stoker?’
‘He is a more approachable individual, friendly, devoted to Irving and obviously someone who is ambitious to be an established writer. Also, despite being married, he is someone the Earth humans would say has an eye for the ladies.’
‘My thoughts exactly, Trevor; I do believe that when we are in this Whitby place I must be fully on my guard in case he declares his undying love for me!’ Atia smiled broadly at Ashto before giving him a peck on the cheek.
The First Commander smiled back at his Apprentice Commander but his eyes did not show very much amusement at all.