CHAPTER 6
A COMPANY OF ACTORS
WE NEVER DID GO back to sleep and we were famished by half past six. Lucy felt brave enough by then to scurry down to the kitchen to ask for cocoa. Poor Dot brought up a tray the size of a sled, with a pot of cocoa, ramekins of coddled eggs and a stack of hot crumpets under a tea cloth.
“If you want anything more,” she said, “you’ll have to go down to the breakfast room.”
Hector sniffed a small bowl of preserves. “Blackberry, Miss Dot?”
Dot blushed. “You don’t call me miss, Master Hector. I’m under-parlormaid, so just Dot. But yes, that’s one of Cook’s special jams, that is.”
“This is a majestic breakfast, Dot, thank you,” I said.
We tucked in. It was one of the best meals of my life, sitting by the fire wrapped in a blanket with snow whirling outside.
“And!” said Lucy. “No adults!”
“And,” said Hector, “an attempted burglary to consider.”
“And, it’s Christmas Eve!” I added. “With a company of actors coming to deliver tableaux to our very own drawing room.”
“I expect they’ll use the ballroom, actually,” Lucy said. “I didn’t take you in there yesterday, but it’s much bigger and grander than the drawing room.”
“The ball room?” said Hector.
“The dancing sort of ball, not the sort to kick about with a dog,” said Lucy.
“Ah, oui, le bal,” said Hector. He took an enormous bite of crumpet and quickly mopped a trickle of butter from his chin.
The arrival of the actors was somewhat delayed because many of the country lanes were near impassable with the fallen snow. Lucy’s grandmother, according to Lucy, did not intend to be overly gracious to those she called “vagabonds.” They would not be greeted by a line of respectful servants outside the front doors, and they would have their meals in the kitchen.
Mr. Sivam had offered to show James the underworkings of his motorcar, so the welcoming committee for the company of actors was only Marjorie, Mrs. Sivam, Hector, Lucy and me. Calling it a company was a bit misleading. There were only three, and their appearance was disappointing, to say it plainly. The two men and a woman were so ordinary-looking that one might expect to see them selling fish in a market or collecting tickets on a train. No dash or bluster, no glamor or sparkle. Their clothing showed no ornament or whimsy, though I was cheered to see that the older actor wore a small gold ring in his ear.
“Mr. Mooney,” said Mrs. Sivam, coming forward with a hand outstretched to the man who seemed to be the leader. It was through his acquaintance with the Sivams that this little troupe had come to Owl Park. Mr. Mooney had removed his hat when he entered the house, showing off dark hair rather longer than was usual for a man, and a fine pointed beard as well. Quite Shakespearean and not so drab, after all.
“As lovely as ever, dear Mrs. Sivam,” said Mr. Mooney, bowing over her hand and kissing it, making her blush. His greeting to Marjorie was more sedate, before introducing his fellow actors, Mr. Corker, who wore the earring, and the woman, Miss Day.
“It is enough baggage to supply a circus,” said Hector.
The actors and two reluctant footmen stood amidst an impressive heap of packing cases, large wicker baskets and brassbound trunks. Costumes! Scenery! Hats and boots and jewelry! And it all must be dispersed in little more than an hour, before old Lady Greyson passed through the Great Hall on her way to luncheon at one o’clock.
“I did not realize there’d be quite so much apparatus!” said Marjorie. “We might have arranged a different entryway. Take everything to the ballroom,” she instructed the footmen. “And please remove the packing cases to the coach house when essentials have been retrieved.”
“Before you disperse!” Mr. Mooney waved his hat in the air, commanding our attention. He put out a hand to stop the footmen who were lifting a table. “Let it be known throughout the household that we are eager to share the stage with anyone who wishes to participate in our entertainment this evening, from upstairs and down. From the lady of the house to the scullery maid.”
The footmen glanced at one another and grinned. Tradition said that Christmas Eve was a night of topsy-turvy, where the servants dressed in their finest clothes and the family poured the drinks and passed refreshments.
“We have particular need of young people willing to assume important roles in our tableaux. May I depend upon your goodness?” He made a deep, graceful bow before Lucy, causing her to burst into happy giggles.
“Yes!” she said. “I’ve always dreamt I might…”
“Marvelous. Will you come as well, young man?”
Hector nodded, very keen.
“And you, miss?”
I hoped my head shake was not impolite, but I simply could not appear upon a stage. Whenever I tried to say aloud one of my poems, for instance, my mouth turned as dry as sand on a desert plain.
“Who will I play?” said Lucy.
Mr. Mooney tapped the side of his nose and whispered, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “That, my dear, will be revealed out of earshot of the curious onlookers. Rehearsals will begin directly we’ve shifted our caravan of belongings.”
Lucy giggled again, and picked up a basket holding several pairs of knee-high boots with gold buckles.
“Isn’t he the most handsome?” she whispered to me.
Quite close by, the lady actor sighed. I looked her way and she flushed at being heard. I tried a small smile and she sent me a bigger one back.
“He can’t help himself,” she said, quietly. “Sebastian Mooney feels compelled to charm every lady in the room, whether she’s twelve or ninety-two. It gets a bit boring for the rest of us.”
She wasn’t flashy the way I’d expected, though her high cheekbones were tinted with a tinge of rouge over tawny skin. Her hair was dark auburn, her eyes light brown and merry. What sort of woman became an actress and traveled about in the company of men? She knew I was studying her and smiled again.
“I am Annabelle Day,” she said. “Are you certain you won’t join us?”
I bit my lip and shook my head no. “I’d rather watch,” I said.
Mr. Corker piled a stack of tricorn hats upon his head, leaving his hands free to carry an oddly shaped leather case.
“We’re always grateful for one or two who are faint of heart,” he said. “We do like an audience, however small.”
“I am renowned for my skill at applause,” I said, tickled to make him smile.
“Never an undervalued talent in our profession,” he said. “If nobody claps, there’s not much point in showing off, is there?”
I agreed that there was not. “I shall clap until my palms sting,” I promised. “I’m curious about your fancy case. What fits in there?”
It was long and narrow and only about three inches deep, firmly buckled in several places.
“Sebastian?” called Miss Day. “We’ve had a request to inspect your precious armory.”
“Aha!” said Mr. Mooney. “Nothing could delight me more!”
He took the long case from Mr. Corker and stepped carefully over a roll of bright fabric to put the case down on the marble floor. He unbuckled the clasps, with a circle of admirers watching closely. When the lid came up, there was an excited Oooh! all around. Inside lay a pair of gleaming swords and a matching pair of daggers, each with a crafted bronze handle and a very sharp-looking blade. Lucy reached out to touch, but he put up a hand to stop her, removing a sword from its nest of velvet.
“Arghh, me hearties!” He swung the weapon above his head, doing a trick with his wrist so that the point remained balanced upward for a few moments, even as he flung his other arm into the air with a flourish. He looked straight at me and winked.
“Who will be the first pretty maiden to walk the plank?” He brought the sword down with a rapid swish and jabbed the air toward Hector. “And who will be the first traitor to get run through with my trusty blade?”