knot of men are chatting, their pipes creating a little tobacco cloud above their heads. And surely this is the Baron himself, standing in the doorway of his hotel, wide moustaches waxed and shining in the morning sun, his generous belly crossed by gold watch-chain. The Baron raises his topper to a passing gentleman, who responds in like manner. Jack watches them standing, discoursing at their ease, and wishes for the same confidence, the same air of wealth. The Baron slaps his thigh and laughs hugely. Jack dismounts, ties Domino to the hitching rail and waits until this imposing man is free.
‘Well, now.’ Baron Alzdorf turns to Jack with a nod. The topper is not lifted this time. ‘Welcome, Sir, to the Baron. Are you after a room? A nice hot meal?’
Jack takes a deep breath, stands tall. ‘I would gladly take both, Sir, but am out of pocket. I’m told you have a good stable.’
The Baron nods slowly, eyeing Jack.
‘Well, Sir, I am a good groom. Or, if necessary,’ he adds, noticing the Baron’s frown, ‘a useful stable-hand.’
The Baron steps over to Domino, who turns his dark head to blow at the newcomer. The big man runs his hands over Domino’s flanks, lifts the saddle-flap.
‘We’ve come a long way,’ says Jack, nervous at this scrutiny. ‘She’s not in the best condition …’
‘Experience?’ asks the Baron, satisfied now, it seems, with his inspection.
‘Groom for Doctor Horatio Ingram of Whanganui. Charged to keep four big riding horses fit and ready for distance runs; and a pony for his wife’s dog-cart.’
The Baron smiles at last. ‘I like your horse, Sir. He’s a credit to you. And I need a groom. What say you to fifteen shillings a week and board?’
Jack dares to smile back. ‘And stabling for Domino?’
The Baron laughs out loud. ‘Cheeky fellow! The stables are for paying guests. And my own hire horses. Do you want me to hire out your Domino?’
‘No, Sir. Domino is for me only.’
‘I have two acres out on Te Aro Flat. If guests are in town for a week, I graze their mounts out there. Domino can join them. Are we agreed?’
Jack wants to say that he earned sixteen shillings from Doctor Ingram, but he can’t get the words out.
‘Jack Lacey,’ he says, offering a hand.
The Baron crushes it. ‘Welcome to Baron’s. The safest hotel in town.’ He pats the solid wall proudly. ‘My first establishment, she come down in forty-eight. Big quake. This establishment here is double wall, lathe and plaster: top storey braced with timber. Chimney braced with iron. My safe castle. My dear wife, she loves this hotel.’
Jack is intrigued to see a tear in the big man’s eye. Perhaps his dear wife was frightened by the last earthquake, and he has built this imposing building to reassure her.
He leads Domino up the alley, stepping through horse-droppings and garbage, to find the stables. Miss Tornear, he thinks, never fear. I have come to rescue you.
T HE JOURNAL OF L ILY A LOUETTE CONTINUES â¦
S CENE: The Royal Victoria Theatre, Wellington
I am introduced to the dramatic arts
I never understood, until I entered theatrical employ, what an uncompromising, driving monster of a woman was Mrs W.H. Foley. Not three days in Wellington and she had me on stage, playing a cripple in The Hunchback! Well, the part was small and not really a cripple, but Mrs Foley was short of an actress, so she thrust me into the part.
âHold your head up! Up, up, up!â she cried, as I tried to keep the broom under my armpit steady while I hopped across the stage to deliver a letter to her.
âOh dear God, that voice will not carry past the two-shilling seats! Louder! And smile prettily, a pout will never win hearts.â
And so on. My ankle was a raging pit of fire; I missed Maria, Tommy and the circus family; I was hungry, tired and ready to fall in a heap of tears. But Mrs Foley drove me on. Drove the whole company. We had five days to prepare not only The Hunchback! but the
‘Well, now.’ Baron Alzdorf turns to Jack with a nod. The topper is not lifted this time. ‘Welcome, Sir, to the Baron. Are you after a room? A nice hot meal?’
Jack takes a deep breath, stands tall. ‘I would gladly take both, Sir, but am out of pocket. I’m told you have a good stable.’
The Baron nods slowly, eyeing Jack.
‘Well, Sir, I am a good groom. Or, if necessary,’ he adds, noticing the Baron’s frown, ‘a useful stable-hand.’
The Baron steps over to Domino, who turns his dark head to blow at the newcomer. The big man runs his hands over Domino’s flanks, lifts the saddle-flap.
‘We’ve come a long way,’ says Jack, nervous at this scrutiny. ‘She’s not in the best condition …’
‘Experience?’ asks the Baron, satisfied now, it seems, with his inspection.
‘Groom for Doctor Horatio Ingram of Whanganui. Charged to keep four big riding horses fit and ready for distance runs; and a pony for his wife’s dog-cart.’
The Baron smiles at last. ‘I like your horse, Sir. He’s a credit to you. And I need a groom. What say you to fifteen shillings a week and board?’
Jack dares to smile back. ‘And stabling for Domino?’
The Baron laughs out loud. ‘Cheeky fellow! The stables are for paying guests. And my own hire horses. Do you want me to hire out your Domino?’
‘No, Sir. Domino is for me only.’
‘I have two acres out on Te Aro Flat. If guests are in town for a week, I graze their mounts out there. Domino can join them. Are we agreed?’
Jack wants to say that he earned sixteen shillings from Doctor Ingram, but he can’t get the words out.
‘Jack Lacey,’ he says, offering a hand.
The Baron crushes it. ‘Welcome to Baron’s. The safest hotel in town.’ He pats the solid wall proudly. ‘My first establishment, she come down in forty-eight. Big quake. This establishment here is double wall, lathe and plaster: top storey braced with timber. Chimney braced with iron. My safe castle. My dear wife, she loves this hotel.’
Jack is intrigued to see a tear in the big man’s eye. Perhaps his dear wife was frightened by the last earthquake, and he has built this imposing building to reassure her.
He leads Domino up the alley, stepping through horse-droppings and garbage, to find the stables. Miss Tornear, he thinks, never fear. I have come to rescue you.
T HE JOURNAL OF L ILY A LOUETTE CONTINUES â¦
S CENE: The Royal Victoria Theatre, Wellington
I am introduced to the dramatic arts
I never understood, until I entered theatrical employ, what an uncompromising, driving monster of a woman was Mrs W.H. Foley. Not three days in Wellington and she had me on stage, playing a cripple in The Hunchback! Well, the part was small and not really a cripple, but Mrs Foley was short of an actress, so she thrust me into the part.
âHold your head up! Up, up, up!â she cried, as I tried to keep the broom under my armpit steady while I hopped across the stage to deliver a letter to her.
âOh dear God, that voice will not carry past the two-shilling seats! Louder! And smile prettily, a pout will never win hearts.â
And so on. My ankle was a raging pit of fire; I missed Maria, Tommy and the circus family; I was hungry, tired and ready to fall in a heap of tears. But Mrs Foley drove me on. Drove the whole company. We had five days to prepare not only The Hunchback! but the
Similar Books
