“Hold, throw.”
Ronald leveled the spear, strode forward, and made a pretend throw.
“Right as ninepence,” exclaimed Mangogo.
Layton, who was backstage watching the tutorial, couldn’t help smiling.
“Did you see that, Father? And in exchange for cricket lessons, Mangogo is going to show me how to use a bow and arrow!” Ronald squealed.
Mangogo had been fascinated by the baby elephants playing cricket and wanted to learn. If an elephant could play England’s national game, so could he.
“Mbuti ripping good with bow,” Mangogo said, nodding affirmatively.
Cissie approached, put an arm around Layton’s waist, and pulled him close. “Ronnie will be the only boy at Eton who’ll know how to hunt like a Pygmy,” she said.
“It’ll certainly make him stand out in the admissions process to Oxford,” Layton agreed, grinning.
“Mangogo can write him a letter of reference.”
“Pygmies don’t write,” Layton said, teasing now. In a passable imitation of Professor Evans’s voice, he added, “They communicate only orally and by song.”
“Well, he can bloody well write a reference song, go to Oxford, and sing it to them,” Cissie said, laughing.
They watched Mangogo follow Ronald down the stage right steps to the stalls.
“Your boy loves being with you,” Cissie said softly.
“It’s being backstage, I think,” Layton said. “It’s a magical world for a boy.”
“Bollocks. He’s happy finally meeting his dad. A boy needs a father.”
“I could get into a lot of trouble for seeing him like this,” Layton said. “If Lord Litton found out, he’d have me behind bars.” In England, an ex-wife could legally keep her children from their father, particularly if the man was a convicted felon.
“After what that bloody cow did to you? To hell with her,” Cissie exclaimed.
“He’ll be going back to school soon,” Layton said.
Cissie raised one eyebrow. “That school of his is in Essex. Plenty of trains go there. We’ll figure something out.”
Layton smiled at Cissie and drew her closer against his body. She had told him that she enjoyed the surreptitious nature of these rendezvous. The secrecy gave her a thrill of excitement.
Ronald could only visit the Queen’s Palace on the afternoons when he was meant to be playing in Hyde Park. The theatre was just minutes away, making it easy for Ronald to slip off. Layton had thought he would never risk a place like Mulcaster again. But for Ronald? The choice was easy. Seeing the joy on his son’s face gave him a pleasure unlike any other. He would continue to see Ronald as much as he could.
In the afternoons, certain acts rehearsed onstage. Ronald was allowed to sit in the front row of the stalls and watch: a personal command performance. Today, with Mangogo sitting next to him, the boy was entirely transported. Luigi had just finished his rehearsal. He tossed Mangogo one of the bricks he had been juggling.
From stage right, a voice called out, “Next!”
Two stagehands carried a long table with a heavy wood top and metal legs onto stage. As they stood there waiting by the table, Dainty Amy came out stage right, smiling and waving at Mangogo and Ronald. She was wearing a white shirtwaist and a long, charcoal-gray skirt.
“Come on out, lads,” she yelled behind her.
Three stagehands sauntered onto the stage. Their expressions said they didn’t want to be there.
“Everybody take a seat like I showed you before. Be sure to crowd together in the center.”
All five stagehands sat on the table with their legs dangling over the edge.
“Sit your bums in the center of the table,” commanded Amy, her arms crossed, her shoe tapping impatiently on the hardwood floor of the stage. As she strode toward the table, she stopped and called out to Mangogo and Ronald.
“You boys come on up here too. The more the merrier.”
Mangogo and Ronald exchanged puzzled expressions but did as they were told, scampering up the side steps to the stage.
“Go sit in the laps of these blokes.”
They both hopped up, to the displeasure of two of the men.
“Here we go, lads. Hold tight!”
Amy ducked under the table, spread her legs, and bent her knees. With her back flat against the underside of the wood table top and hands grasping the edges, she drew in a deep breath, then, with her back, thrust the table six inches off the floor.
“One, two, three, four, and five,” she called out before setting the table back down on the floor.
“Mangogo bloody amazed,” the Pygmy yelled out with joy, waving his spear.
Ronald hopped off the table and counted the men, making a mental calculation.
“That’s fifty-seven stone—eight hundred pounds you lifted,” the boy exclaimed. “Plus me and Mangogo.”
“Are we finished here?” grumbled one of the hands.
“Off you go,” replied Amy. “I’ll ask for five volunteers from the audience tonight, and they can be fatter than these blokes. The men always want to show me up, but the bastards never do,” she said with a look of great satisfaction.
Layton appeared stage right and motioned for Ronald to come backstage. His visit was over; he had to get back to Hyde Park. Though the boy’s heart sank visibly, he did as he was told, waving a sad goodbye to Mangogo. Backstage, he bid farewell to Cissie and the other performers. Cyril gave him a bag of toffee sweets and a kiss on the cheek.
“It’s been a crackin’ day, Father,” Ronald said. His eyes were bright and joyful, like two little miniature suns, and they made Layton feel aglow inside.
On the way to the stage door, a beautiful blond stopped them.
“This must be Ronald,” she said. “I’m Helen.”
“It’s a great pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Ronald said, shaking her hand and bowing.
“He’s a good-looking chappie and already a proper gentleman, Frank,” Helen said, smiling at them both.
“She’s so pretty,” the boy remarked as they walked down the alley.
“That’s Helen McCoy, the Piccadilly Lilly. She’s just started her career, and already she’s a sensation. ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’ is her signature song. Cissie says she’s going to be a great star, that she’s got a once-in-a-lifetime voice.”
“You and Cissie are sweet on each other, aren’t you?”
The directness of the question shocked and amused Layton in equal measure. His son didn’t beat around the bush. He liked that.
“Right you are, lad,” he said. “Cissie’s a spiffing girl.”
“Father, why do they all call you Frank Owen when you’re Douglas Layton?”
Layton had known that, sooner or later, this question would arise. “Grandfather Charles once said that actors have pretend names so they don’t disgrace their families.”
Layton burst out laughing. “Lord Litton is right. For many people, the theatre is an evil place. Decent people don’t dare be part of it.”
“I don’t think that at all! It’s a wonderful world of make-believe and fun. You’re so lucky to be a part of it.”
They had reached Hyde Park Corner, where they always parted ways. Layton stopped and smiled down at his son.
“You’re absolutely right, Ronnie. I’m very lucky indeed.”