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disquiet.
    Thomas Skillen was the next to turn up at The Theatre. The venerable stagekeeper had been with Westfield’s Mensince their formation but his roots in the drama went much deeper than that. For over forty years now, he had survived in a ruinous profession that had hurled so many people into oblivion, and he had done so by virtue of his quick wits and total reliability. What hope would there be for him if he was driven out of his job now? Advancing age and creaking joints had slowed him down but he could still assert his authority. George Dart found this out when he came running out onto the stage to be given a clip across the ear by the senior man.
    ‘You struck me, Thomas!’ he said in alarm.
    ‘Aye, sirrah, I did.’
    ‘For what reason?’
    ‘For none at all, George. The blow was on account.’
    ‘But I have done nothing amiss.’
    ‘You will, sirrah. You will.’
    Nicholas stepped in to rescue the injured party and to assign jobs to both men.
Double Deceit
was a highly complicated play which made heavy demands on those behind the scenes. It was an amiable comedy about two pairs of identical twins who get caught up in an escalating series of mistakes and misapprehensions. Inspired by one of the plays of Plautus, it was a glorious romp that never failed to delight its audiences but it called for several scene changes and required an interminable list of properties.
    By the time that others began to appear, Thomas Skillen and George Dart had set the stage so that the rehearsal could begin and were attending to a myriad other duties.
    Lawrence Firethorn waited until the full company was assembled before he strode out onto the stage with his characteristic swagger. A raised hand compelled silence.
    ‘Gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘Let me rid your minds of one abiding error. This is not a rehearsal of an old and ailing text whose sparkle has been dimmed by the passage of time.
Double Deceit
is no plodding nag who asks no more of us than to sit back lazily in the saddle and guide her in the right direction. She is a mettlesome filly whom we take out on her first full gallop today. Wear your spurs, my friends, and do not be shy of using them. We must ride hell for leather into glory!’
    Younger members of the cast were stirred by his speech but older hands were more cynical. Barnaby Gill leant over to whisper to Edmund Hoode.
    ‘As I foretold,
she
is coming to the performance.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The latest sacrificial victim for his bed,’ said Gill sardonically. ‘That is why we would put some ginger into
Double Deceit.
He wants to warm the lady up so that she is glowing strongly when he boards her. Westfield’s Men are being used as his pimps.’
    ‘Lawrence does not always meet with success.’
    ‘Nor shall he this time, Edmund. This ignoble plot shall be nipped in the bud. I’ll act him off the stage and end the matter there.’
    The boast was stillborn. It was easier to perform triple somersaults through the eye of a needle than to out-act Lawrence Firethorn when he turned on his full power. For that is what he did at the rehearsal. There was no holdingback, no harbouring of his resources for the afternoon. In the twin roles of Argos of Rome and Argos of Florence, he was a soaring comet who dazzled all around him. Barnaby Gill doubled manfully in the parallel roles of the comic servants, Silvio of Rome and Silvio of Florence, but it took all his energy to keep pace with his two masters, let alone try to overtake either.
    It was a bold decision to tackle two roles each and it necessitated great concentration and perfect timing to maintain the illusion for the audience. Argos of Rome and his much-maligned companion, Silvio, were a jaded pair who dressed in mean apparel. Argos of Florence, however, and his chirpy servant, Silvio, were bubbling extroverts with vivid attire. As one pair left the stage, the other would step out onto it almost immediately. Lightning changes of cloak, hat and manner worked