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Authors: Deryn Lake
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two formal lakes had frozen, sending the swans and ducks to shelter on the land. It was a wonderful vista and the Apothecary found himself wishing again that he might one day own something like this.
How long he stood staring he couldn’t tell but he was suddenly brought back to reality by a footman intoning, “Your Highness, my Lords, my Ladies, ladies and gentlemen, kindly take your seats. The Masque of Christmas is about to begin.”
With a smile, John put down his glass and progressed through to the Great Saloon, taking his seat on a little gilt chair.
There was a general bout of coughing and throat-clearing and then the small orchestra, consisting of a violin, a viola, a cello and a flute, started to play, the violinist conducting with his bow. During this overture people talked as was customary, a habit of which John did not approve, preferring to listen to the music. However, the experience was soon at an end and the handsome Mr. O’Callaghan, wearing tights and a draped shirt, appeared.
“The Masque of Christmas,” he announced in a beautiful voice.
There was rapturous applause from the ladies. The performance had begun.
Chapter Six
M ichael O’Callaghan, having said his few words, made an exit and several children rushed on dressed as snowflakes. They sang a merry song, somewhat tunelessly, then whirled round and round in the open space beneath the great window which had been designated as the stage area. John found his eye wandering to the landscape outside, struck again by the ever-lengthening shadows and how they made dark, mysterious pools beneath the trees.
The next scene brought his attention back to the masque for Emilia entered with the Irishman, declaring her undying love for him. She looked stunningly beautiful, he thought, her little face accentuated by theatrical make-up. She was also quite a good actress, speaking up loudly and clearly and remembering all her lines. Michael, on the other hand, had indeed the actor’s great voice but could not lose his Irish accent which, John had to admit, added a great deal of charm to his performance.
He was extremely handsome, the Apothecary thought, with his strong, clearly defined features, his long black hair which, defying the fashion for white wigs, he wore tied back in a queue, together with his devastating green eyes. He would do well playing the role of a highwayman, perhaps Macheath, though this notion made John shudder, recalling the affair of The Beggar’s Opera and its dire consequences.
The masque progressed, the basic story line being about the eternal triangle, represented by Emilia, Michael O’Callaghan and Priscilla. The snowflake children appeared again dressed as little cupids in pink tights and gold tops, firing make-believe arrows from golden bows. It was all very light-hearted and pleasant to look at but as to the writing, John did not care for it. Though to tell Emilia so would have been bad manners, he considered. The main theme seemed to be about a yule log brought into the house on Christmas Eve but nobody could find a fragment of last year’s log to kindle it. It was superficial but pleasant to watch was his summation.
There was no interval, the whole thing lasting only an hour. Several people left the room during this time, gone to relieve themselves no doubt. But all were present as the piece drew to its close, Princess Amelia nodding and smiling and clearly delighted with the entire spectacle.
The finale came. Priscilla made her entrance in a vivid red cloak, a colour that almost hurt the eyes it was so glorious to look at. She triumphed over Emilia who was sent away, looking sad and drooping about the shoulders. The Irishman sang of love in a pleasant light baritone voice; the children danced; then every member of the cast came on and performed a Merry Andrew, amongst their number Lady Georgiana who had been relegated to a minor role.
John applauded wildly, thinking his wife to be the prettiest member of the
How long he stood staring he couldn’t tell but he was suddenly brought back to reality by a footman intoning, “Your Highness, my Lords, my Ladies, ladies and gentlemen, kindly take your seats. The Masque of Christmas is about to begin.”
With a smile, John put down his glass and progressed through to the Great Saloon, taking his seat on a little gilt chair.
There was a general bout of coughing and throat-clearing and then the small orchestra, consisting of a violin, a viola, a cello and a flute, started to play, the violinist conducting with his bow. During this overture people talked as was customary, a habit of which John did not approve, preferring to listen to the music. However, the experience was soon at an end and the handsome Mr. O’Callaghan, wearing tights and a draped shirt, appeared.
“The Masque of Christmas,” he announced in a beautiful voice.
There was rapturous applause from the ladies. The performance had begun.
Chapter Six
M ichael O’Callaghan, having said his few words, made an exit and several children rushed on dressed as snowflakes. They sang a merry song, somewhat tunelessly, then whirled round and round in the open space beneath the great window which had been designated as the stage area. John found his eye wandering to the landscape outside, struck again by the ever-lengthening shadows and how they made dark, mysterious pools beneath the trees.
The next scene brought his attention back to the masque for Emilia entered with the Irishman, declaring her undying love for him. She looked stunningly beautiful, he thought, her little face accentuated by theatrical make-up. She was also quite a good actress, speaking up loudly and clearly and remembering all her lines. Michael, on the other hand, had indeed the actor’s great voice but could not lose his Irish accent which, John had to admit, added a great deal of charm to his performance.
He was extremely handsome, the Apothecary thought, with his strong, clearly defined features, his long black hair which, defying the fashion for white wigs, he wore tied back in a queue, together with his devastating green eyes. He would do well playing the role of a highwayman, perhaps Macheath, though this notion made John shudder, recalling the affair of The Beggar’s Opera and its dire consequences.
The masque progressed, the basic story line being about the eternal triangle, represented by Emilia, Michael O’Callaghan and Priscilla. The snowflake children appeared again dressed as little cupids in pink tights and gold tops, firing make-believe arrows from golden bows. It was all very light-hearted and pleasant to look at but as to the writing, John did not care for it. Though to tell Emilia so would have been bad manners, he considered. The main theme seemed to be about a yule log brought into the house on Christmas Eve but nobody could find a fragment of last year’s log to kindle it. It was superficial but pleasant to watch was his summation.
There was no interval, the whole thing lasting only an hour. Several people left the room during this time, gone to relieve themselves no doubt. But all were present as the piece drew to its close, Princess Amelia nodding and smiling and clearly delighted with the entire spectacle.
The finale came. Priscilla made her entrance in a vivid red cloak, a colour that almost hurt the eyes it was so glorious to look at. She triumphed over Emilia who was sent away, looking sad and drooping about the shoulders. The Irishman sang of love in a pleasant light baritone voice; the children danced; then every member of the cast came on and performed a Merry Andrew, amongst their number Lady Georgiana who had been relegated to a minor role.
John applauded wildly, thinking his wife to be the prettiest member of the
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