Celia's House (13 page)

Deb had been looking forward to this summer eagerly, but now the summer was here and it was not going as she had expected. She was not enjoying it much.
It's because of the play,
thought Deb.
When the play is over everyone will settle
down.

She had never heard the beginning of the idea, but all at once everyone was talking about the play. It ousted the wedding as a topic of conversation. They were all delighted at the idea of acting a play, but unfortunately they were not unanimous as to what the play should be. Edith wanted a modern comedy and was backed up by Oliver; Tessa was determined to have scenes from
A
Midsummer
Night's Dream
; Aunt Alice was eager that they should act a play, but she wanted one with music, and especially with songs in it for Joyce—Joyce was having singing lessons and it seemed a pity to waste this opportunity to show off her voice.

“She has such a pretty voice,” declared Alice, smiling at her second daughter affectionately.

“Could we do
Faust
?” asked Joyce, who had suddenly visualized herself as Marguerite, singing the “Jewel Song” to an enraptured audience.

“My dear girl,” said Mark impatiently. “What on earth do you think we are? Who ever heard of amateurs attempting
Faust
?”

“It must be something we can do out of doors,” said Tessa. “It must be
A
Midsummer
Night's Dream
.”

“It's so hackneyed,” declared Oliver.

“It's the sort of thing schoolchildren do,” said Edith.

The battle raged for several days and then all at once it was over. Tessa knew exactly what she wanted, so she won. The others were still hunting for a modern comedy (with good parts for five people) that could be played out of doors without any artificial properties, but their efforts grew more and more feeble.

“It's no good,” said Oliver at last. “We can't find anything suitable.”

“There isn't anything suitable,” Tessa declared. “If you don't want
The
Dream
you'll have to write a play yourself.”

She was so sure they would come around that she was already at work upon the play, molding it to her requirements. She eliminated Act I, because it had to be played indoors, but took some of the speeches out of it and grafted them into Act II. Some of the speeches were too long (in Tessa's opinion), so she cut them down. She found her self-appointed task very fascinating.

They were all having tea on the terrace at Dunnian when the matter was finally settled. The whole family was there, including Douglas Rewden, who had come over from Sharme to discuss arrangements for the wedding and was somewhat surprised to discover that this hitherto absorbing subject had been shelved.

“Now that it's settled we must go ahead,” Tessa said happily, and she explained her ideas. Debbie discovered that she was to be Oberon and Celia was to be Puck. Celia would make a very good Puck, thought Debbie, but she was not so sure of her own ability to play the Fairy King. She had not expected to be included in the cast.

“Of course you must be in it,” said Mark. “You can do it beautifully, Debbie. We need you.”

“I suppose you've cast us all,” Oliver said with a grin. “May I ask what character I'm to represent.”

“You're Demetrius,” replied Tessa. “Mark is Lysander.”

“I shall be Helena,” Edith and Joyce said together with one voice.

“I don't know—” Tessa began.

“You're engaged,” Joyce said quickly. “It's my turn to have some fun. I want to be Helena.” She struck an attitude and declared:

“I will not trust you, I,

Nor longer stay in your curst company.”

“I'm the eldest,” said Edith.

“I think Edith had better be Helena,” Oliver said.

“Then I shall be Hermia,” declared Joyce.

“I don't think that would do,” Tessa said firmly. “I must be Hermia because I'm small and dark. You know the bit where Lysander says, ‘Away, you Ethiope,' and Helena says, ‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.' Hermia is always small and dark.”

“Joyce would make a splendid Titania,” said Oliver, smiling.

“I won't,” declared Joyce. “Titania is such a fool. I'll be Oberon and Debbie can be Titania if she likes.”

“Yes, of course,” Debbie said quickly. She did not mind what part she had as long as the others were satisfied.

“Are you sure, Deb?” asked Mark.

“I'd
rather
be Titania,” replied Deb, nodding.

“That's settled then,” declared Tessa, who was anxious to get things straight and never lost an opportunity of fixing a point firmly in everyone's mind. Deb wondered, afterward, how often she had heard Tessa say, “That's settled then,” before passing on to some other debatable point.

“What about Quince and Bottom and all of them?” asked Oliver.

“We can't have them,” replied Tessa. “There's nobody to play them.”

“There's Rewden,” Oliver said. “Rewden could be Bottom and then we could have the bit where Titania wakes up and sees Bottom. It's awfully good theater and would amuse the townspeople.”

Deb was horrified at this suggestion, for she had read the play and was aware of the extravagant things she would have to say to Mr. Rewden. (She had been told to call him Douglas, but she had not accomplished this difficult feat.) How could she possibly put her arms around his neck and say that she would “Kiss thy large fair ears, my gentle joy”?

Celia had read the play too. She leaned across and whispered, “Deb, his ears
are
large and fair.”

“Hush,” Deb said sternly.

“What about the fairies—Peaseblossom and the others,” someone inquired.

“We can do without them. I'll take out all that,” said Tessa, turning over the pages of her book and making rapid notes.

“You'll need one fairy at least,” said Edith. “Perhaps Mildred Raeworth would do. She's very small for her age.”

“It ought to be called ‘Tessa's Dream,'” said Oliver, laughing.

“I'm only taking out a few little bits—”

“I'm sure you're doing it beautifully, dear,” Alice said kindly.

“I mean,” explained Oliver. “I mean, if any of the audience has ever seen or read or heard of William Shakespeare's play he may feel that he's been cheated and want his money back.”

Alice said with a bewildered air, “I'm sure Tessa will give him his money back if he wants it.”

They all laughed. Alice was not aware that she had said anything funny, but she smiled as if she had meant to. She found it increasingly difficult to understand the young—and especially difficult to understand Oliver. When they were all talking together like this it was almost as if they were talking in a foreign language with which she was only partially acquainted. She sighed and thought of Humphrey. Humphrey was so easy to understand.

“I'll be Bottom,” Billy said suddenly. “You've forgotten me, but I want to be in it. We did that play at Welland House, so I know all about it.”

“Really?” inquired Oliver, who disliked Billy and never lost an opportunity of baiting him. “You know
all
about it, do you? How lucky for us to have your knowledge at our disposal. Perhaps you would tell us what it's all about.”

“I thought you knew,” Billy replied in surprise. “You were talking as if you did. It's about two lots of lovers who get lost in the Wood of Arden—near Athens, you know. It's Midsummer Night, of course, and the fairies are having a party. The lovers have come a long way and they're very tired, so they lie down and go to sleep. Well then, you see, Puck comes along and goes around scattering magic poppy dust in people's eyes, and when they wake up, they fall madly in love with the first person they see—and of course it's the wrong person. They all get tangled up like anything. It's a very funny play.”

Oliver was completely silenced by this masterly résumé of the plot and it was left for Alice to say, very fondly, “You certainly seem to know all about it, Billy.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, I do. I was Puck in the school play, but I'd like to be Bottom now if nobody minds. It will be fun wearing the donkey's head. Douglas had better be Theseus. You'll need Theseus to explain everything at the end when the lovers get unmagicked and fall into each other's arms.”

“I'd rather be Demetrius,” Douglas said with a glance at Edith.

“Demetrius!” Tessa exclaimed in alarm. “But Demetrius is the most important part in the play. Have you had much experience of acting?”

“Er—no,” replied Douglas. “But if Edith is going to be Helena I'd better be Demetrius—”

“It's a big part,” said Tessa.

“It's only a play, Douglas,” said Edith.

“There's a tremendous lot to learn,” said Oliver.

Douglas looked from one to the other with a doubtful sort of air.

“Of course, if you insist,” Oliver said casually. “If you really insist upon it the part is yours…but I warn you there's a tremendous lot of stuff to learn.”

“And you're so busy,” added Edith, smiling at him.

“Oh, well,” Douglas said helplessly. He saw that everyone was against him—even Edith—so it was no use pursuing the matter further.

Several days passed. The discussions and the arguments went on and on, but gradually something began to emerge from the chaos, something rather exciting, Deb found. Deb had learned her part quite easily—she was word perfect—and, as Billy knew his part already, they began to practice together and had great fun.

The others were rehearsing too, for they all had a great deal to learn in spite of Tessa's blue pencil. They went about with rapt expressions upon their faces, muttering their lines over and over. Tessa was not only the editor and one of the principal actors, she was producer as well, and she ruled her small company with an iron hand.

“Don't stand there,” she would say. “Come forward and speak clearly. Remember it's the open air and people won't be able to hear…that's wooden, Joyce. Do it like this.” And Tessa would step forward and show how the thing should be done.

Sometimes her decisions were questioned by the other actors, who had their own ideas of how their parts should be played, but Deb noticed that, after the point had been discussed and debated, the others usually gave in and allowed Tessa to have her way, and Deb was obliged to admit that Tessa was usually right. “That's settled then,” Tessa would say—and somehow or other it was.

• • •

Gradually the play took shape; the date was fixed and notices were sent out to be displayed in the shop windows in Ryddelton. Tickets began to sell almost at once, for a great many people thought it would be amusing to go over to Dunnian and see the young people acting. It was well worth a shilling, including the bus fare. People were coming from the big houses as well: the Farquhars and the Murrays from Timperton, the Johnsons from Carlesford, and all the people from around about Ryddelton.

No scenery was needed, for nature had provided that, but dresses had to be made or altered to suit the wearers and Becky sewed industriously in the old nursery at the top of the house. Deb went up and helped her whenever possible, for there was a good deal to do, and, besides, she liked to help Becky. It was quiet and peaceful in the old nursery. They sat there together for hours on end, chatting about one thing or another or sitting in silent amity. Every now and then one of the actors would pop in to see how they were getting on, to try on a doublet or make suggestions about a dress.

One afternoon, when Deb and Becky were hard at work, the door opened and Tessa walked in. She was the person who had given the dressmakers more trouble than all the other members of the cast put together. Her dress had been altered half a dozen times.

“What's wrong now, I wonder,” Becky murmured in an undertone.

Deb smiled, for these sotto voce remarks of Becky's always amused her. They were so characteristic of Becky. Sometimes the subject of the remark was intended to hear it, and sometimes not, but if Becky were asked to repeat the remark she usually said something quite different.

Tessa took no notice of Becky—there was no love lost between them. “Hello, Debbie!” she said in a cheerful tone.

“Hello!” Deb responded without enthusiasm.

“I've been looking for you, Debbie,” Tessa said.

“Have you?” Deb asked in some surprise, for as a rule Tessa took very little notice of her.

“Yes, I wondered where you were,” said Tessa, perching herself on the edge of the table and swinging her legs.

“Miss Deb is here most afternoons,” said Becky. “It's a pity other people can't do a bit of sewing sometimes.”

Tessa made no reply to this except to glance at Becky with a supercilious air.

“I want to talk to you,” she said to Deb. “It's about the play, of course. We want Andrew Raeworth to take the part of Egeus, and we can't very well ask Andrew without asking Angela. You see that, don't you?”

“Yes,” said Deb.

“Of course Mildred is going to be the fairy—but we haven't got a suitable part for Angela.”

“Couldn't Angela be the fairy?” asked Deb.

Tessa laughed. “Can you
see
her!” she exclaimed. “She's far too big, for one thing.”

Deb said nothing.

“You aren't particularly keen, are you?” Tessa inquired.

Deb hesitated and then she said slowly, “You mean you want Angela to be Titania?”

“You don't mind, do you? I mean, you just took the part because Mark said we needed you, but now we don't need you.”

“What does Mark think about it?” asked Deb.