Light Thickens

“Well, I won’t. But I can’t help wondering,” said Crispin. “Seeing you’re my father and seeing the book I’m reading. Can I?”

“I suppose not.”

“Are you going on with Macbeth?”

“I don’t think so. I think it’ll probably be a revival of my own play.”

“The Glove?”

“Yes.”

“That will be fun. With William, of course?”

“He gave a very promising reading.”

“A talented child,” said Crispin.

They crossed Blackfriars Bridge and turned left and left again into Wharfingers Lane. There were three cars ahead of them.

“Winty’s car and two of the board. As usual I don’t know when I’ll be home. Good-bye, old boy.”

“ ’Bye, Pop.”

Peregrine watched him walk away up Wharfingers Lane. He went in by the stage door.

Most of the cast were there in groups of three or four. The stage had been scrubbed down and looked the same as usual. He wondered what would be its future. The skeleton hung from the gallows and swung in the draft. Bob Masters and Charlie greeted him and so did a number of the actors. They gathered around him.

He said at once: “No absolute news but it will, I imagine, be out before long. The pundits are gathering in front-of-house. I think, my dears, it’s going to be the end of Macbeth. I hope the new play will be a

“Under flawless direction, Perry,” said Maggie and the others, after a murmured agreement, clapped him: a desultory sound in the empty Dolphin. It died away. A throat was cleared. Gaston stepped forward.

Somebody said: “Oh, no.”

“I may not,” Gaston proclaimed with an air of infinite conceit, “be considered the appropriate figure to voice our corporate approval of the style in which the play has been presented. However, as no one else has come forward, I shall attempt to do so.” He spread his feet and grasped his lapels. “I have been glad to offer my assistance in matters of production and to have been able to provide the replicas for the weapons used by Macbeth and Macduff. I made them,” he said, with a modest cough. “I do, however, now frankly deplore the use of the actual, historical claidheamh-mor. At the time I felt that since no hands but my own would touch it, there would be no desecration. I was utterly mistaken and take this opportunity of admitting as much. The claidheamh-mor is possessed of a power —”

“For God’s sake, somebody, stop him,” muttered Simon.

“— it moves in its own appointed way —”

The doors at the back of the stalls opened and Alleyn came into the house and walked down the center aisle.

Gaston paused, his mouth open. Peregrine said: “Excuse me, Gaston. I think Mr. Alleyn wants to speak to me.” The actors, intensely relieved, set up a buzz of affirmation.

“It’s to say that we’ve just about finished our work in the theatre,” Alleyn said, “and the dressing-rooms are now open for use. I must ask you all to remain at your present addresses or, if any of you change your address, to let us know. If this is inconvenient for any of you I am very sorry. It will not, I hope, be for very long.”

He turned to Peregrine. “I think the management would like a word with you,” he said.

Bruce Barrabell said importantly, “I am the union’s representative in this production. I will have to ask for a ruling on the situation.”

“No doubt,” said Alleyn politely, “they will be glad to advise you. There is a telephone in the Prompt corner.” And to the company: “Mr. Fox has the keys. He’s in the greenroom.”

“I suppose,” said Barrabell, “you’ve been through our private possessions like the proverbial fine-tooth comb.”

“I’m not sure how proverbial fine-tooth combs work but I expect you’re right.”

“And retired to your virtuous bed to sleep the sleep of the just, no doubt?”

“I didn’t go to bed last night,” said Alleyn mildly. He surveyed the company. “The typescripts of your statements are ready,” he said. “We’d be grateful if you’d be kind enough to read them and if they’re correct, sign them before you go. Thank you all, very much.”

In the boardroom, Peregrine faced his fellow guardians and Winter Meyer. Mrs. Abrams was secretary.

“In the appalling situation in which we find ourselves,” he said, “the immediate problem is how we conduct our policy. We’ve been given twenty-four hours in which to decide. One: we can go dark and advertise that money for advance bookings will be refunded at the box office. Two: we can continue with the presentation. Simon Morten would take the lead and his understudy play Macduff. The fight at the end will be replaced by a much simpler routine. Or, and this is an unorthodox suggestion, Gaston Sears would play the lead. He tells me he is in a fair way to being word-perfect and of course he knows the fight, but he adds that he feels he would have to decline.

“Three: we can take a fortnight off and reopen with the revival of one of our past successes. The Glove has been mentioned. As the author I feel I can’t speak for or against the play. I can, however, say that I have heard William Smith read the very important part of the young Hamnet Shakespeare and he promised extremely well. We can cast it from the present company. Maggie would be splendid as the Dark Lady and I fancy Simon as the Bard and Nina as A

He was silent for a second or two and then said: “This is a terrible thing that has happened. One would have said that our dear Sir Dougal had no enemies — I still can’t get myself around to — to — to facing it and I daresay you can’t either. Of one thing we may all be sure, he would have wanted us to do what is best for the Dolphin.”

He sat down.

For a time nobody spoke. Then one bald and stout guardian whispered to another and a little pantomime of nodding and portentous frowns passed around the table. The senior guardian, who was thin and had a gentle air, stood up.

“I move,” he said, “that we leave the decision in Mr. Peregrine Jay’s hands and do so with our complete trust in his decision.”

“Second that,” said another guardian.

“Those in favor? Unanimous,” said the chairman.

Chapter 8

DEVELOPMENT

“I suppose I ought to be feeling all glowing and grateful,” said Peregrine, “but I’m afraid I don’t. They are nice old boys, all of them, but they’re dab hands at passing the buck and making it look like a compliment.”

“You’ve been given a completely free hand and if it turns out a dead failure you’ll find yourself out on a limb and all of them saying, ever so delicately, that they felt at the time the decision was a mistaken one,” Alleyn observed.

“That’s right.”

“If it’s any comfort, which it isn’t, I’m familiar with these tactics.”

“Why don’t we leave them to make the decision? Why don’t I say I feel it would be better, under the circumstances, for somebody less intimately concerned with the Dolphin to produce the next show? God knows it’d be true.”

“Yes?”

“But I’d feel I was ratting.” He dug his hands into his pockets. “I’m fond of them. We’ve taken a journey together and come out on the golden sands. We’ve found Macbeth. It’s a marvelous feeling. Or was. Are you any further on?”

“A little, I think. Not enough, not anything like enough to even think of an arrest.”

Peregrine’s fingers had been playing with something in his pocket. They closed around it and fetched it out, a dilapidated little figure, jet black, flourishing a bent weapon.