The more the drink flowed, the louder the conversation grew. It had been a sticky start. After the final performance of The Relapse, Captain Hogg, in a gesture of largesse, had invited Catherine Balmore, Tyler Courtney and Mrs Trump to attend a post-play gathering at the spacious house he rented in Hanover Square. (Having allowed Miss Balmore the use of his cousin’s rather more run-down home, the captain had made sure his abode was a fit place to entertain society.) Though only the three most acceptable members of the troupe had been invited to mingle with the great and the good (Bowser was one notable absentee), most of the others had tagged along. This had caused some initial embarrassment. Actors could be enjoyed on stage. Meeting them socially was totally different. Sheriff Ridley did his best to avoid Jack’s eye.
Tensions eased when the bulbous captain had to leave abruptly. News had come in that over twenty colliers had been chased back into the Tyne by two French privateers. Hogg reluctantly had to hurry off to Tynemouth to see if there was any further danger posed by the French ships. Speculation sparked conversation into life. Those who felt mixing with thespians was beneath them – the sheriff for one – took advantage of the captain’s call to leave themselves. Those left behind set about depleting the captain’s cellar.
Early in the proceedings, Jack had been cornered by the wife of a town council member. While she broadly hinted that her life was so dull because her husband neglected her, and gave him exact times when the councillor would be away from home, Jack felt that familiar annoyance at seeing Catherine laughing and making eyes at Hogg. He wasn’t too pleased either at the way that Courtney was monopolising Bessie – or was it the other way round? When the captain was summoned, Jack took the opportunity to escape the councillor’s wife. Under normal circumstances, he would have eagerly taken advantage of the lady’s open invitation, for she was not unattractive. But with Catherine and Bessie both enjoying themselves without him, he could not concentrate. As he excused himself, the lady deftly touched the front of his breeches and whispered her address in his ear. In his haste, he didn’t catch the name of the street.
He sidled up to Catherine, who had just returned from seeing the captain off. ‘It is most unfortunate that Captain Hogg has been called away on such a wretched night as this. I suspect he will get thoroughly drenched.’
Catherine surveyed him, amusement playing in those beautiful eyes, perfectly set off by her robe à la française of blue and silver silk damask brocade and her lightly powdered hair. ‘I am sure the captain would be touched to hear that you show so much concern for his wellbeing.’
They both grinned. With luck, the blubbery captain would catch a fever and conveniently die. Then the way would be open. Jack couldn’t help fantasising. ‘As the good captain is detained, will you need an escort home tonight?’
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘That is most gallant of you, Jack. However, such an offer may not be well received by your admirer.’
Jack turned round and saw Bessie glaring in their direction. She, too, had dressed up for the occasion in her best (and only) silk dress, but it didn’t hold a candle to Catherine’s. ‘Ah, I see what you mean. Maybe on another occasion.’
‘Yes, another time perhaps. Come, refresh your glass.’ Catherine guided him to a liveried flunky, who poured some fine claret into his glass. He was glad the clawing, cheap mulled wine they had been served on their arrival had run out.
The room was still fairly full. The noise of animated chatter and laughter rose under the high ceiling. The portraits round the walls of dull merchants and their equally dull wives surveyed the proceedings with disapproval.
Catherine put a hand on Jack’s arm. It was a move prompted by concern, not affection. The smile had gone and there was an unexpected urgency in her voice. ‘Jack, you must have heard about the robbery at Mr Bowser’s house a few nights past? Do you know anything about it?’
Jack was about to play the innocent. Too late, he realised his expression of horror at her question had given him away.
‘I had a dreadful feeling that it was you after what you told me the other evening. Though it is not common knowledge, Captain Hogg got wind of the story. He believes Bowser’s men have been combing the town for something that was stolen.’ Jack frowned questioningly. ‘No, I did not mention anything of the matter to him. All I say is this, Jack. Mr Bowser is an enemy you can ill afford to have. You must flee the town as I suggested. If he discovers it is you, I fear for your life. I can give you a little money if you need it.’
‘That is kind of you, Catherine, though escaping this place is not a simple task.’
They moved closer to the corner of the room so as not to be overheard.
‘I cannot understand what on earth Bowser thinks he has had stolen.’
‘You did not take anything?’
‘Nothing of any consequence.’
‘What is not of any consequence?’ Bessie was making a habit of barging in on his conversations with Catherine. A few minutes ago, he had been jealous because “his ladies” were talking with other men; now he had the attention of both.
‘Mr Flyford was saying that The Relapse was not of any consequence, yet he thoroughly enjoyed playing in it.’ Jack admired Catherine’s coolness.
‘Yes, I was. I was comparing it to the superior qualities of the higher works which we have performed. And of those I have performed in Edinburgh.’
Not surprisingly, Bessie was unconvinced as soon as Jack started to ramble. ‘Jack, dearest,’ and here she raised her eyebrows in warning to Catherine, ‘I did not realise you were so thoughtful on the subject of high drama. When you are with me, you seem to prefer to talk of lower pleasures, particularly,’ – this time Jack received a mock smile – ‘those laid upon the dining table.’
Catherine stiffened. ‘I must mingle with the captain’s guests.’ She then returned Bessie’s stare. ‘Oh, Mr Flyford, I may take you up on your kind offer to escort me safely to Pilgrim Street this night.’ With an exaggerated rustle of her wide-hooped skirts, she moved off. Jack didn’t know where to put himself.
Through gritted teeth, Bessie angrily whispered, ‘Escort her home! Are you not making rather a habit of that?’
He spat back. ‘How can you make such lewd remarks in front of her?’
‘Easily.’
The volcanic repartee was about to erupt when a loud clapping stopped conversations around the room. Tyler Courtney raised his hands for quiet.
‘Please forgive me for interrupting this merriest of gatherings.’ From the flushed face, Jack could see that he had been punishing the captain’s carefully gathered wine stock. ‘Lords, ladies and gentlemen… and members of the theatre, of course.’ His joke elicited laughter from the worthy citizens and wine-filled scowls from the thespians.
‘I am sorry that Captain Hogg has been taken away from us on His Majesty’s most urgent business. However, I think this is an appropriate time to make a couple of announcements. As you know, our last production will be Dr Young’s The Revenge’ – polite applause – ‘which I know you will all want to come and see. The good news is that we will be playing again at the Theatre in the Bigg Market next season, beginning in October.’ The applause this time came from the relieved actors. At least they had employment to look forward to even if it meant a lean summer, though some might find work in the months ahead with groups of travelling players at county fairs and improvised theatres in taverns. One thing Jack was sure of, he wouldn’t be within a hundred miles of Newcastle come October – or even for the performance of The Revenge.
‘But the most exciting piece of news I have,’ and Courtney waited to create the maximum effect, ‘is that very soon our humble theatre will play host to none other than Mr David Garrick.’
At first there was silence. Then what Courtney had said began to sink in. Cheers, delighted claps and excited chatter burst out all over the room. The exceptions were Bessie and Jack, who mentally put aside their differences and exchanged fretful glances. ‘The fool has had too much to drink,’ Jack hissed bitterly.
‘You are going to have to write that letter mighty quickly,’ Bessie muttered back.
Courtney was waving his arms again as though trying to attract someone’s attention from a great distance. Quiet descended once more, though an inebriated buzz of anticipation bubbled close to the surface. ‘It is none other than my colleague and great friend, Mr Flyford,’ (since when had they become great friends? Jack wondered) ‘who is responsible for this fabulous moment for the citizens of Newcastle. It is he to whom we must offer our heartfelt thanks. Tell us, Jack,’ Courtney wobbled with the effort of pointing in Jack’s direction, ‘when do you hope that Mr Garrick will be with us?’
Courtney may be drunk but the scheming bastard was deliberately putting him on the spot – and it couldn’t be at a more public occasion. The guests craned their necks to see Jack and hear his answer. There was only one thing he could do. He grasped at the fancy choker about his neck (he was wearing his expensive and fashionable ensemble), made a feeble gurgling noise and collapsed on the floor. He just hoped the dust and spilt wine wouldn’t ruin his beautiful blue jacket.