Читать книгу Vintage Murder - Ngaio Marsh, Stella Duffy - Страница 10

The Dacres Company arrived at Middleton in time for breakfast. By ten o’clock the stage staff had taken possession of the Theatre Royal. To an actor on tour all theatres are very much alike. They may vary in size, in temperature, and in degree of comfort, but once the gas-jets are lit in the dressing-rooms, the grease-paints laid out in rows on the shelves, and the clothes hung up in sheets on the walls, all theatres are simply ‘theatre’. The playhouse is the focus-point of the company. As soon as an actor has ‘found a home’, and, if possible, enjoyed a rest, he goes down to the theatre and looks to the tools of his trade. The stage-manager is there with his staff, cursing or praising the mechanical facilities behind the curtain. The familiar flats are trundled in, the working lights are on, the prompter’s table stands down by the footlights and the sheeted stalls wait expectantly in the dark auditorium.

Soon the drone of the run-through-for-words begins. Mechanics peer from the flies and move, rubber-footed, about the stage. The theatre is alive, self-contained and warm with preparation.

The Royal, at Middleton, was a largish playhouse. It seated a thousand, had a full stage and a conservative but adequate system of lighting and of overhead galleries, grid, and ropes. Ted Gascoigne, who was used to the West End, sniffed a little at the old-fashioned lighting. They had brought a special switchboard and the electrician morosely instructed employees of the local power-board in its mysteries.

At ten o’clock Carolyn and her company were all asleep or breakfasting in their hotels. Carolyn, Valerie Gaynes, Liversidge, Mason and Hambledon stayed at the Middleton, the most expensive of these drear establishments. For the rest of the company, the splendour of their lodgings was in exact ratio to the amount of their salaries, from Courtney Broadhead at The Commercial down to Tommy Biggs, the least of the staff, at ‘Mrs Harbottle, Good Beds’.

George Mason, the manager, had not gone to bed. He had shaved, bathed, and changed his clothes, and by ten o’clock, uneasy with chronic dyspepsia, sat in the office at The Royal talking to the ‘advance’, a representative of the Australian firm under whose auspices the company was on tour.

‘It’s going to be big, Mr Mason,’ said the advance. ‘We’re booked out downstairs, and only fifty seats left in the circle. There’s a queue for early-door tickets. I’m very pleased.’

‘Good enough,’ said Mason. ‘Now listen.’

They talked. The telephone rang incessantly. Box-office officials came in, the local manager of the theatre, three slightly self-conscious reporters, and finally Mr Alfred Meyer, carrying a cushion. This he placed on the swivel chair, and then cautiously lowered himself on to it.

‘Well, Alf,’ said Mason.

‘’Morning, George,’ said Mr Meyer.

Mason introduced the Australian advance, who instantly seized Mr Meyer’s hand in a grip of iron and shook it with enthusiasm.

‘I’m very glad to meet you, Mr Meyer.’

‘How do you do?’ said Mr Meyer. ‘Good news for us, I hope?’

The reporters made tentative hovering movements.

‘These gentlemen are from the Press,’ said Mason. ‘They’d like to have a little chat with you, Alf.’

Mr Meyer rolled his eyes round and became professionally cordial.

‘Oh, yes, yes,’ he said, ‘certainly. Come over here, gentlemen, will you?’

The advance hurriedly placed three chairs in a semi-circle close to Meyer, and joined Mason, who had withdrawn tactfully to the far end of the room.

The reporters cleared their throats and handled pads and pencils.

‘Well now, what about it?’ asked Mr Meyer helpfully.

‘Er,’ said the oldest of the reporters, ‘just a few points that would interest our readers, Mr Meyer.’

He spoke in a soft gruff voice with a slight accent. He seemed a very wholesome and innocent young man.

‘Certainly,’ said Mr Meyer. ‘By God, this is a wonderful country of yours…’

The reporters wrote busily the outlines for an article which would presently appear under the headline: ‘Praise for New Zealand: An Enthusiastic Visitor.’