Desperate Acts by Don Gutteridge Page B

moderate success. Whenever he took his hands off the
cask to get better leverage, it rolled back onto his toes. His
rhythmic yelps drew guffaws from the sailors seated nearby. Brodie
hoped Etta was all right.
    ***
    It was eight-forty-five when Sir Peregrine called
for order and, with an ostentatious slap of leather upon the table,
opened a folio volume of the Great Man’s plays. In turn, he looked
each of the four volunteers in the eye with a solemn gaze, raised
his plump, right index finger, and dropped it onto the page open
before him as a preacher might indicate the Biblical verse
animating his sermon.
    “Act two, scene one: the entrance of Oberon,
King of the Fairies, from stage left and Titania, Queen of the
Fairies, from stage right. Here we shall commence our revels.”
    So much for any deliberation of which
excerpts were to be chosen, thought Brodie. And before the others
could rummage through the various editions of the play they had
brought with them, Sir Peregrine held up a sheaf of printed scripts
and flapped them like a sailor practising semaphore.
    “No need to find the entry point, gentlemen.
I have brought along these actor’s pages – very like those used by
Edmund Kean at Drury Lane – to facilitate the execution of our
enterprise. They contain a judicious selection of the scenes and
sub-scenes that comprise acts two and three. The essentials of the
plot have been retained, and the running time is about forty
minutes, if memory serves.”
    “You have performed this version before,
then?” Andrew Dutton said.
    “Yes, indeed. My lady and I are veterans of
the comedic turn.”
    “And you will be coaching us?” Cyrus Crenshaw
said.
    “Indeed, I shall, though I believe the more
appropriate term is directing,” Sir Peregrine smiled. “And my first
task will be to distribute these scripts and then call on you, in
sequence, to read a speech or two that I shall designate on your
behalf.”
    “A sort of audition, then?” Dutton said,
revealing his lawyer’s instinct for clarity of terms.
    “Nothing quite so formal, my dear Dutton. We
are all friends here. We shall try this and that in an atmosphere
of encouragement and good cheer until we happen upon the role best
suited to our sundry talents.” He smiled broadly and underlined the
gesture with both jowls.
    “But won’t it be difficult without the
ladies’ parts?” Crenshaw said. “The women are everywhere in here,
as far as I can see.”
    “As befits a play about love,” Sir Peregrine
said affably. “And ladies we shall have, good sir. That is
precisely why we are making this a truly ‘amateur’ production with
a carefully selected audience.”
    “By my count, we’ll need three of the fairer
sex for these scenes,” Dutton said, ever precise. “Titania, Hermia
and Helena.”
    “And count well, you have, my dear Dutton.
Lady Madeleine Shuttleworth will lay claim to the exacting role of
Titania. My niece Lizzie, who is tall for her age, will be perfect
for Helena.”
    “Which leaves the role of Hermia unaccounted
for,” Dutton said.
    “Indeed,” Sir Peregrine said. “I was hoping
that one or more of you would find it feasible to conscript a wife
or daughter for our intrepid band. But, of course, three of our own
members themselves declined to participate, leaving us with a
corporal’s guard, as it were.”
    He did not have to point out that Fullarton’s
wife was an invalid and that Dutton was a lonely widower without
issue.
    “You have a young sister, do you not,
Langford ol’ chap?” he said to Brodie with more hope in his voice
than expectation.
    “I did ask Celia if she would like to join
us,” Brodie said, “but she declined. Perhaps another time – ”
    “My good wife would be happy to play any role
assigned her,” Crenshaw said. “Clementine has taken part in several
tableaux – when she was in school.”
    “Splendid, splendid,” Sir Peregrine enthused.
“But do you think she is – ah – right for the role of