The house was quiet, which made Jack’s descent of the stairs sound like the creaking of an old vessel being tossed around in rough seas. Yet if he was lucky, he could make it to the safety of the street without being seen. After last night’s fiasco, he felt that to remain in Acorn’s house much longer would be to seriously overstay his welcome. Fortunately, he had managed to evade his host after the cancellation of the performance. However, it was only a matter of time before the manager caught up with him and expressed his views on the way Jack’s suggestion had turned Hamlet from a tragedy into a comedy within a few seconds.
He crossed the hallway and his hand was upon the front door knob when a voice snapped behind him. ‘Mr Flyford!’ Jack stiffened, pulled an agonised face and slowly turned. Acorn stood at the parlour door. ‘Pray, may I have a few moments of your time?’ The question was rhetorical.
Jack stood uneasily before Acorn. No proffered seat. Gone was the ‘Jack this’ and ‘Jack that’. More worrying still was the look that Acorn wore. The last time Jack had seen that cold, piercing stare was on the first night that he had entered this room. All right, a little idea had gone wrong. Accidents will happen. Yet this was no way to treat a friend of Garrick’s. He had repeated the story so often that he was starting to believe it himself. If Acorn got too heavy-handed, Jack would tell him so. Acorn crossed over to the table. He picked up a newspaper and thrust it aggressively at Jack. ‘I think you might find this of interest. You will see it is a copy of the Edinburgh Courant which has come into my possession.’
This was an unexpected turn. Jack took the newspaper with some reluctance. His eye caught the words New Concert Hall.
Yesternight, the New Concert Hall in the Cannongate opened its doors once more after its recent closure due to the unruly behaviour of the public. The company again performed the Beggar’s Opera with Mr Digges portraying the character of Captain MacHeath. On his appearance, the applause was the most universal that was ever heard. Such was the attraction that there was no space for one more person to enter into the hall.
The Kirk is much annoyed at the reopening of the New Concert Hall. The company of players has been denounced as rogues and vagabonds. From the pulpit, the Reverend Dodds has accused Mr Flyford, the actor who was attacked on the stage during the unfortunate disturbance, of being a licentious and perverted son of Satan. Mr Flyford is believed to be no longer in the town.
Jack did not have to read any more. The shutters that had obscured his view had been torn away and the light began to stream in. The bastard! The bastard had used him. Now that he remembered it, it was Digges who had encouraged him to chase Mollie Dodds. When the rebarbative cleric ran amok, Digges had been the one with the presence of mind to whip him out of the theatre. Digges had taken him directly to a convenient hiding place. Digges had got him a seat on the coach at such short notice. Digges had the letter of introduction ready. Digges must have planned the whole business: Jack’s courting of Mollie, then getting word to the old windbag that he had been tupping his wife. This in turn instigated the riot which, followed by the inevitable condemnation by the Kirk, exhorts everybody to rush off to the New Concert Hall to see what all the fuss is about. And a full theatre means money. And money means debts can be paid. Or some of them. The rest would go straight into, and out of, Digges’ pocket to pay for his extravagantly hedonistic style of life. What an idiot Jack had been not to realise what was happening! God, he had trusted the man. Was this the West Digges who could do no wrong?
‘Well, sir, an explanation if you please.’ Jack was jolted out of his disillusioned thoughts.
‘Sorry?’ he asked stupidly.
‘I demand to know the reason why you were attacked.’
‘A misunderstanding,’ stammered Jack.
‘A misunderstanding!’ Acorn repeated incredulously. ‘You were assaulted on stage, you were denounced from the pulpit as a degenerate—’
‘No, only licentious and perverted,’ Jack corrected.
‘And you say it was a misunderstanding! What, pray, was misunderstood?’
Jack did not like Acorn’s accusing tone. ‘Dodds came storming into the theatre because he was under the impression that he was being cuckolded by my good self. Of course, nothing could have been further from the truth. As the son of a canon of the King’s church, I could never bring myself to lay beside the wife of a man of the cloth, whatever his denomination.’
Acorn’s eyes narrowed. ‘This Dodds seems to have had no doubts.’
‘Blinded by fury. The wrong man. Digges told me afterwards that he believed the filthy culprit to be the viola player in the orchestra who, I must admit, bears a passing resemblance to me. Plucking more than his strings!’ Acorn appeared to be wavering. Now the time seemed right to bring in Garrick and reassert his position. It would help to put Acorn back in his place. ‘As a result of this appalling error, Digges was keen that I should not become embroiled further. That is why he despatched me south. He said that he had made a solemn oath to David Garrick to look after me and he would take it upon himself to clear my name but, for the time being, it would be best if I left Edinburgh until tempers had cooled and reason been restored. I apologise, Mr Acorn, if I did not lay the full facts before you and Mr Bowser. The truth is that the memories of that awful night are still too fresh.’
This time, neither Garrick’s name nor the humble apology seemed to change Acorn’s attitude. ‘Do you take me for an imbecile, sir?’
What an extraordinary remark to make, thought Jack. ‘Of course not, Mr Acorn.’ His bowels began to loosen – a sure sign that something nasty was about to happen.
‘You have played me for a fool, and that I cannot forgive.’
This was too much. Outraged bluster was needed. ‘Sir, your tone is offensive. You make wild accusations, for what reason I cannot conceive. Would you that I left? I am sure David Garrick would not treat me so!’
‘Ha!’ The laugh was mocking. ‘I do not think that Garrick will treat you any differently, for he has never heard of you.’
‘This is preposterous!’ Jack was about to carry on in the same vein, but the words never emerged. Acorn held aloft a piece of paper. It was Jack’s letter to Digges.
‘It is clear from this letter to Mr Digges that your story was a total fabrication.’
Jack tried one more outburst. ‘How dare you read my private correspondence!’ As he spoke the words, he knew the gesture was futile. The flame of outrage is difficult to fan when you are defending a tissue of lies. Acorn had just pissed on the last remaining embers.
‘Be quiet! I have had enough of your huffing and puffing.’ For a moment, he toyed with the letter in his hand. When he spoke, his voice was calm, his tone unpleasant. ‘I do not mind a liar and a scoundrel. I have met many in my life, of which you are just the latest. Your crime is to have deceived me and my partner. The whole company believes you to be a friend of Garrick’s. If the truth were known, then my standing in the eyes of my players would be greatly diminished. This I cannot afford with Thirsk snapping at my heels. I do not want to be a laughing stock. That I cannot and will not allow.’
‘Honestly, Mr Acorn, I will not tell another living soul.’ Even to Jack it sounded pathetic.
‘I know you will not. You see, your gravest error was to delude Mr Bowser. He would not forgive you. The man who makes a fool of Lazarus Bowser is a man who cares little for his life.’
The warning left nothing to the imagination.
Acorn dropped the letter on the table. ‘This is what I propose. You will leave my house as soon as you have gathered your possessions. You will appear on stage tonight. Fortunately, it is our last performance of Hamlet. When the applause dies away – hopefully tonight there will be no repeat of yesternight’s laughter – I do not want to see your face again. That means you will leave Newcastle for ever. And do not entertain any thoughts of joining that rogue Thirsk. That will be no protection against Bowser.’ The thought hadn’t even entered Jack’s spinning head.
‘Where am I going to stay the night?’
Acorn took some coins from the table drawer. ‘Here is enough for a night’s lodging and for a coach in the morning.’ Why are people always giving me money to go away? Jack briefly pondered. ‘Where that coach takes you, I do not care. You will tell no one that you are going. When you do not appear tomorrow morning, I will say that you received a letter from London. They can draw the obvious conclusion. If you are still within the town walls tomorrow night…’ He let the unspoken threat hang in the air. Without a word, Jack took the money and left the room.
At first, Bessie did not answer his light, persistent knocking on her door. She knew who it was. Why should she answer? His feeble efforts the night before had made her feel silly, unwanted, unfulfilled. What had made her doubly disappointed was that Jack had been rather good on the previous occasions. Her expectations thus raised, he had singularly failed to match them. But now the knocking had ceased and she was cross that he had given up so easily.
Jack was nearing his room when Bessie called to him down the corridor. Putting a warning finger to his lips, he bundled her unceremoniously back into her room. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ she started indignantly. He tried to hush her. The last thing he wanted was for Acorn to catch him with his daughter. Another scene and Bowser might still be brought in. ‘This is a strange way to apologise.’ The anger was rising in her voice.
‘Bessie, I do not have time to beg your forgiveness with sweet words. I am here to bid you farewell.’
Bessie’s expression changed to one of disbelief. ‘But why?’
‘Your father is sending me away.’ He swiftly related the conversation with Acorn. He found it odd to discover that he was telling someone the whole truth. That had rarely happened since Oxford. Now he had nothing to lose.
Bessie’s response was a mirthless snort. ‘That is so like my father to believe your ridiculous story about Garrick.’
‘And you did not?’ Jack said with genuine surprise.
‘Of course not.’ He looked hurt. ‘Why are men so gullible? If you tell them what they want to hear, they will believe it because they want to. Women may be the weaker sex, but we are not as weak in the head as men.’
Jack had not come to hear a diatribe on the mental inadequacies of his gender. Still abashed at her total dismissal of what he thought was his brilliant Garrick deception, he said grumpily, ‘Well, in that case you will be best pleased that I am departing.’
‘No, I am not.’ This was said with a warmth that had been absent from any of their previous conversations. Not that they had actually got round to saying much. ‘I must see you again before you leave.’
‘I cannot. Your father would kill me if I appeared here once more.’
Bessie thought for a moment. ‘How long is the musical interlude in the middle of the play?’
‘About half of the hour if the orchestra plays well. Five minutes if they do not and the audience grows restless.’
‘Well then, that is when you can slip away. Cut across Nuns Field.’ She went over to the window. ‘If you are worried that you might be seen, climb up the tree out there. The branches are very convenient.’ Jack had the impression that this manoeuvre had been carried out before. ‘You need have no fear about my father. He will be at the theatre during the performance and if he does not see you, he will merely think you are keeping out of his way.’
‘What about the cook and that bloody maid? She must have handed over my letter to your father.’
‘The cook leaves after dinner and I will send Hilda away for the evening.’
Jack was still nervous about the idea. Were the inherent risks worth it? ‘It will not leave much time.’
‘Time enough.’ She grinned suggestively. ‘And I promise you a farewell you will never forget.’
He needed no further persuasion. ‘Right, I will come.’