Overture to Death

Henry had learnt his part and shaped well. He and Dinah were the only members of the cast who gave any evidence of team work. The others scarcely even so much as looked at each other, and treated their speeches as it they were a string of interrupted recitations.

ii

The battle of the music had raged for three weeks. Miss Prentice and Miss Campanula, together and alternately, had pretended to altruistic motives, accused each other of selfishness, sulked, denied all desire to perform on the piano, given up their parts, relented, and offered their services anew. In the end Dinah, with her father’s moral support behind her, seized upon a moment when Miss Campanula had said she’d no wish to play on an instrument with five dumb notes in the treble and six in the bass.

“All right, Miss Campanula,” said Dinah, “we’ll have it like that. Miss Prentice has kindly volunteered, and I shall appoint her as pianist. As you’ve got the additional responsibility of the Y.P.F.C. girls in the front of the house, it really does seem the best idea.”

After that Miss Campanula was barely civil to anybody but the rector and the squire.

Five days before the performance, Eleanor Prentice developed a condition which Miss Campanula called “a Place” on the index finger of the left hand. Everybody noticed it. Miss Campanula did not fail to point out that it would probably be much worse on the night of the performance.

“You’d better take care of that Place on your finger, Eleanor,” she said. “It’s gathering, and to me it looks very nasty. Your blood must be out of order.”

Miss Prentice denied this with an air of martyrdom, but there was no doubt that the Place grew increasingly ugly. Three days before the performance it was hidden by an obviously professional bandage, and everybody knew that she had consulted Dr. Templett. A rumour sprang up that Miss Campanula had begun to practise her Prelude every morning after breakfast.

Dinah had a private conversation with Dr. Templett.

“What about Miss Prentice’s finger? Will she be able to play the piano?”

“I’ve told her she’d better give up all idea of it,” he said. “There’s a good deal of inflammation, and it’s very painful. It’ll hurt like the devil if she attempts to use it, and it’s not at all advisable that she should.”

“What did she say?”

Dr. Templett gri

“She said she wouldn’t disappoint her audience, and that she could rearrange the fingering of her piece. It’s the ‘Venetian Suite,’ as usual, of course?”

“It is,” said Dinah grimly. “ ‘Dawn’ and ‘On the Canal’ for the overture, and the ‘Nocturne’ for the entr’acte. She’ll never give way.”

“Selia says she wouldn’t mind betting old Idris has put poison in her girl friend’s gloves like the Borgias,” said Dr. Templett, and added: “Good Lord, I oughtn’t to have repeated that! It’s the sort of thing that’s quoted against you in a place like this.”

“I won’t repeat it,” said Dinah.

She asked Miss Prentice if she would rather not appear at the piano.

“How thoughtful of you, Dinah, my dear,” rejoined Miss Prentice, with her holiest smile. “But I shall do my little best. You may depend upon me.”

“But, Miss Prentice, your finger!”

“Ever so much better,” said Eleanor in a voice that somehow suggested that there was something slightly improper in mentioning her finger.

“They are waiting to print the programmes. Your name — ”

“Please don’t worry, dear. My name may appear in safety. Shall we just not say any more about it, but consider it settled?”

“Very well,” said Dinah uneasily. “It’s very heroic of you.”

“Silly child!” said Eleanor playfully.

iii

And now, on Thursday, November the 25th, two nights before the performance, Dinah stood beside the paraffin heater in the aisle of the parish hall, and with dismay in her heart prepared to watch the opening scenes in which she herself did not appear. There was to be no music at the dress rehearsal.

“Just to give my silly old finger time to get quite well,” said Miss Prentice.

But Henry had told Dinah that both he and his father had seen Eleanor turn so white after knocking her finger against a chair that they thought she was going to faint.

“You won’t stop her,” said Henry. “If she has to play the bass with her feet, she’ll do it.”

Dinah gloomily agreed.

She had made them up for the dress rehearsal and had attempted to create a professional atmosphere in a building that reeked of parochial endeavour. Even now her father’s unmistakably clerical voice could be heard beyond the green serge curtain, crying obediently:

“Begi

In front of Dinah, six privileged Friendly Young Girls, who were to sell programmes and act as ushers at the performance, sat in a giggling row to watch the dress rehearsal. Dr. Templett and Henry were their chief interest. Dr. Templett was aware of this and repeatedly looked round the curtain. He had insisted on making himself up, and looked as if he had pressed his face against a gridiron and then garnished his chin with the hearth-brush. Just as Dinah was about to ring up the curtain, his head again bobbed round the comer.

“Vy do you, ’ow you say, gargle so mooch?” he asked the helpers. A renewed paroxysm broke out.

“Dr. Templett!” shouted Dinah. “Clear stage, please.”

“Ten thousand pardons, Mademoiselle,” said Dr. Templett. “I vaneesh.” He made a comic face and disappeared.

“All ready behind, Daddy?” shouted Dinah.

“I think so,” said the rector’s voice doubtfully.

“Positions, everybody. House lights, please.” Dinah was obliged to execute this last order herself, as the house lights switch was in the auditorium. She turned it off and the six onlookers yelped maddeningly.

“Ssh, please! Curtain!”

“Just a minute,” said the rector dimly.

The curtain rose in a series of uneven jerks, and the squire, who should have been at the telephone, was discovered gesticulating violently to someone in the wings. He started, glared into the house, and finally took up his position.

“Where’s that telephone bell?” demanded Dinah.

“Oh, dear!” said the rector’s voice dismally. He could be heard scuffling about in the prompt-corner and presently an unmistakable bicycle bell pealed. But Jocelyn had already lifted the receiver and, although the bell, which was supposed to summon him to the telephone, continued to ring off-stage, he embarked firmly on his opening lines:

“Hallo! Hallo! Well, who is it?”

The dress rehearsal had begun.

Actors say that a good dress rehearsal means a bad performance. Dinah hoped desperately that the reverse would prove true. Everything seemed to go wrong. She suspected that there were terrific rows in the dressing-rooms, but as she herself had no change to make, she stayed in front whenever she was not actually on the stage. Before the entrance of the two ladies in the second act, Henry came down and joined her.

“Frightful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s the end,” said Dinah.

“My poor darling, it’s pretty bad luck for you. Perhaps it’ll pull through to-morrow.”

“I don’t see how — Dr. Templett!” roared Dinah. “What are you doing? You ought to be up by the fireplace. Go back, please.”

Miss Prentice suddenly walked straight across the stage, in front of Jocelyn, Selia Ross and Dr. Templett, and out at the opposite door.

“Miss Prentice!”

But she had gone, and could be heard in angry conversation with Georgie Biggins, the call-boy, and Miss Campanula.

“You’re a very naughty little boy, and I shall ask the rector to forbid you to attend the performance.”

“You deserve a sound whipping,” said Miss Campanula’s voice. “And if I had my way — ”

The squire and Dr. Templett stopped short and stared into the wings.