Read Online Will Starling by Ian Weir - Free Book Online Page A

nights ago, Atherton — you’ve heard?”
    Atherton had, along with half of London.
    â€œA convulsive fit,” said Bob, “and it was Kean’s performance did it to him. The final act, as Overreach goes mad and rages . . .”
    â€œWomen dissolve into hysterics,” interrupted Tom Sheldrake, to make sure the story was properly told. “They shriek aloud, Atherton, and swoon. The other players upon the stage turn pale; Mrs Glover must support herself upon a chair; and then suddenly down goes Byron. Drops in his private box — down, sir, like a poleaxed ox — clutching his throat and foaming.”
    â€œPerhaps not technically foaming,” ventured Bob Eldritch, stung into a small display of independent spirit, “as a medical man might understand the term . . .”
    â€œFoaming, sir, at the mouth.”
    â€œAnd whether strictly speaking a poleaxed ox could clutch its throat . . .”
    â€œGo and find an anatomist’s shelf, Bob, and perch yourself upon it.”
    â€œYes, all right, but — ”
    â€œA peer of the realm, precipitated into convulsions by the player’s art. By the greatest display of passion, sir, ever seen upon an English stage. Upon any stage, to state my personal opinion, in the world — that is what we observed, those of us who were privileged to be at Drury Lane two nights ago.”
    â€œAlthough in strictest factuality” — a quiver of actual mutiny in Bob’s mutter — “I don’t recall your being there at all.”
    â€œGentlemen — and I include my friend Bob Eldritch in this category, despite any quibbles that he himself might advance, upon technical grounds . . .”
    â€œIndeed, Tom, I am the one who described to you how — ”
    â€œGentlemen, and ladies too, for I note a few of the fair sex here present amongst us — and despite whether ‘ladies’ is the term that my friend Bob Eldritch would use, in his customary insistence upon strict speaking — for God’s sake shut your cake-hole, Bob, and raise your glass — ladies and gentlemen, luminaries and Bob, I salute Mr Edmund Kean!”
    A howl of approval shook the rafters. Atherton howled along with the others, for this was of course the very raison d’être of the Wolves Club. It had been formed at the instigation of Mr Edmund Kean, and existed to howl approval of him, as the greatest actor of his generation. On nights when Kean was not performing, it went to howl opprobrium at rival tragedians, many of whom as arrogant upstart pretenders deserved to be howled right off the stage. There were thirty or forty Wolves in total — men of the theatre, in one capacity or another, along with professional men — including those such as Atherton whose participation was occasional. When fully assembled, they howled very loudly indeed.
    More Wolves had drifted in after Atherton’s arrival, though they still numbered fewer than a score. But more would be waiting at the theatre, and the whole pack would descend upon Fountain Court afterwards, for tonight was to be one of those nights, on which wine would flow like the rivers of Babylon and maidens would bolt their doors in holy dread — or not, depending upon the maiden. In the meantime, those assembled throats howled so lustily that you could imagine the sound reaching the ears of Edmund Kean himself, who was currently in his dressing room, girding his loins for the evening’s performance. This would involve quantities of wine and a second set of loins, belonging to a Cyprian. A third and even a fourth set of loins might be later called into play, at the intervals between the acts. Edmund Kean was the very Avatar of the Age.
    He would certainly be at Fountain Court afterwards, along with Tom Sheldrake and Bob Eldritch and Dionysus Atherton. As fate would have it, Your Wery Umble would be there too.
    *
    I’d been to the Giltspur Street