laughter – a trifle forced, he thought, as he rushed to open the stage door. As it opened, he saw Will descending after Nettie from the carriage, dwarfed by the driver. Will’s face lit up as he saw Auguste – and then he screamed.
In the darkness a huge black shape hurtled over them in a clatter of wings, descending then swooped round twice more before flying away, black against the darkness of the sky. Will stood stock still, staring after it, until Nettie seized his arm and frogmarched him into the building, Auguste at their side. Will was shaking with terror.
‘The raven,’ he gibbered. ‘The
raven.
’
Coincidence, was Auguste’s immediate hope. Surely it was merely one of the Tower of London ravens strayed from its home territory? Then he realised with a chill of fear, that the window above the door was still slightly open. It might be no coincidence. Duncan had entered Macbeth’s palace, the raven had spoken. It remained onlyto see if Duncan would be foolish enough to remain within these walls. Leaving Nettie to see Will into his dressing-room, Auguste rushed up the narrow steps to the next floor, part attic, part stage machinery, part props room. By the open window were several huge baskets, most with restless animal movement within. One stood empty. He thrust the window open, and in the branches of the tall tree opposite, a large black shape regarded him balefully.
On stage Fernando was standing bewildered. He was used to noise. He was used to being barracked. He just ignored it. But he was not used to being pelted with rotten vegetables and jeers. He liked approving roars, and gasps of amazement, as he performed his feats of strength. He growled and raised his club threateningly. The pit and gallery exploded into mirth. Puzzled, he decided to change the order of his act. He marched to the side of the stage, where the props table was prepared, and picked up six knives. Swiftly one after the other he threw them at the cloth dummy monkey swinging from the dummy tree against the jungle backcloth. Each one of them hit its target admirably. He lumbered up to reclaim them and faced his audience with a grin. There was a tentative clap after the sudden silence. So he began his feats of strength again.
‘As bad as that?’ Nettie asked. ‘You really think Will’s in danger?’
‘I do,’ Auguste replied gravely.
‘Then you do have to leave, love. I’ll do the work on my own,’ Nettie informed Will robustly.
Will stood up, still shaking. ‘Perhaps I should, Nettie.Thank you, Mr Didier.’ He took Auguste’s arm and they walked to the door. But before they reached it, it opened. In came a young woman of about thirty, with hair of flaming red. She was still in her ordinary clothes, for her turn was not until near the end of the show, but it did not diminish her beauty. She smiled, and the light shone from her large blue eyes.
‘Hallo, Will. Where are you off to?’
‘He is indisposed,
madame,’
Auguste answered quickly for him. ‘He must return home.’
‘You’re wrong, Mr Didier,’ Will Lamb beamed. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Hallo Mariella.’
Winkles, whelks and the approaching interval could not be ignored forever. His duty, now Will Lamb was well protected by others, lay in the eating-room. Outside the dressing-room, Auguste realised, the noise from the auditorium had resumed and redoubled. Fernando staggered towards him with tears rolling down his face. He threw himself into Auguste’s arms, sending him back against the wall with his weight. The stage door once more opened and a small imperious figure swept towards them, attracted by the noise. She was young, she was fat, she had a very strong jaw.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ she jabbed a finger at Fernando’s heaving back.
‘It is a noisy house this evening.’
‘The Shadwell Mob, is it?’ the ringleted phenomenon demanded.
‘It is.’
‘I’ll settle them. Put me on next,’ she yelled at the scared manager.
‘Do
In the darkness a huge black shape hurtled over them in a clatter of wings, descending then swooped round twice more before flying away, black against the darkness of the sky. Will stood stock still, staring after it, until Nettie seized his arm and frogmarched him into the building, Auguste at their side. Will was shaking with terror.
‘The raven,’ he gibbered. ‘The
raven.
’
Coincidence, was Auguste’s immediate hope. Surely it was merely one of the Tower of London ravens strayed from its home territory? Then he realised with a chill of fear, that the window above the door was still slightly open. It might be no coincidence. Duncan had entered Macbeth’s palace, the raven had spoken. It remained onlyto see if Duncan would be foolish enough to remain within these walls. Leaving Nettie to see Will into his dressing-room, Auguste rushed up the narrow steps to the next floor, part attic, part stage machinery, part props room. By the open window were several huge baskets, most with restless animal movement within. One stood empty. He thrust the window open, and in the branches of the tall tree opposite, a large black shape regarded him balefully.
On stage Fernando was standing bewildered. He was used to noise. He was used to being barracked. He just ignored it. But he was not used to being pelted with rotten vegetables and jeers. He liked approving roars, and gasps of amazement, as he performed his feats of strength. He growled and raised his club threateningly. The pit and gallery exploded into mirth. Puzzled, he decided to change the order of his act. He marched to the side of the stage, where the props table was prepared, and picked up six knives. Swiftly one after the other he threw them at the cloth dummy monkey swinging from the dummy tree against the jungle backcloth. Each one of them hit its target admirably. He lumbered up to reclaim them and faced his audience with a grin. There was a tentative clap after the sudden silence. So he began his feats of strength again.
‘As bad as that?’ Nettie asked. ‘You really think Will’s in danger?’
‘I do,’ Auguste replied gravely.
‘Then you do have to leave, love. I’ll do the work on my own,’ Nettie informed Will robustly.
Will stood up, still shaking. ‘Perhaps I should, Nettie.Thank you, Mr Didier.’ He took Auguste’s arm and they walked to the door. But before they reached it, it opened. In came a young woman of about thirty, with hair of flaming red. She was still in her ordinary clothes, for her turn was not until near the end of the show, but it did not diminish her beauty. She smiled, and the light shone from her large blue eyes.
‘Hallo, Will. Where are you off to?’
‘He is indisposed,
madame,’
Auguste answered quickly for him. ‘He must return home.’
‘You’re wrong, Mr Didier,’ Will Lamb beamed. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Hallo Mariella.’
Winkles, whelks and the approaching interval could not be ignored forever. His duty, now Will Lamb was well protected by others, lay in the eating-room. Outside the dressing-room, Auguste realised, the noise from the auditorium had resumed and redoubled. Fernando staggered towards him with tears rolling down his face. He threw himself into Auguste’s arms, sending him back against the wall with his weight. The stage door once more opened and a small imperious figure swept towards them, attracted by the noise. She was young, she was fat, she had a very strong jaw.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ she jabbed a finger at Fernando’s heaving back.
‘It is a noisy house this evening.’
‘The Shadwell Mob, is it?’ the ringleted phenomenon demanded.
‘It is.’
‘I’ll settle them. Put me on next,’ she yelled at the scared manager.
‘Do
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