Authors: Lawana Blackwell
“I’m grateful you agreed to see me,” Muriel said once seated stiffly in a pale blue damask-upholstered chair with
her reticule in her lap. Not certain yet if Mrs. Steel would hold her to her five minutes, she would have rather skipped the preliminaries, but that simply could not be done. “How is your health, Mrs. Steel?”
Mrs. Steel smiled. None of the acidity for which she was famous was evident in her wan face, but then Richard Whitmore was not in the room. “I’m much better in the afternoons. So you chose a good time. What may I do for you?”
Relieved to be getting down to business, Muriel replied, “This is embarrassing to come out and say, but I’m considering auditioning for a part at the Royal Court.”
The actress stared at her, but as there seemed neither amusement nor mockery in her expression, Muriel was able to relax the tiniest bit.
“You’ve the looks for the stage,” Mrs. Steel said at length. “But have you any acting experience?”
“None whatsoever.” Mentioning the bit about playing the grieving widow did not seem a good idea. “But I feel certain in my heart I could do it.”
A wry little smile quirked the actress’s pale cheeks. “You and every other Londoner. It’s not as easy as it appears.”
“No . . . of course . . .”
“Why did you come to
me,
Lady Holt?”
Muriel drew in a deep breath. “I realize the limitations of your condition, Mrs. Steel. But if you could manage to tutor me for an audition in less than two weeks, I would pay you five hundred pounds.”
The actress’s eyebrows lifted. After a space of two seconds, she said, “What makes you assume I need money?”
“I don’t assume that in the least, Mrs. Steel. But I’ve nothing to lose by asking, and it could be that you would enjoy the challenge.”
Mrs. Steel seemed to mull this over. “What part are you interested in reading?”
“Lady Audley,” Muriel replied, and the revelation took her as much by surprise as it obviously did Mrs. Steel. But
why go to all the expense, effort, and potential humiliation for anything less?
“Impossible,” the actress said.
“I’m willing to take that risk.”
“Being related to the McGuires will not give you an edge, if that’s what you’re hoping. There are too many other employees dependent upon them.”
Muriel shook her head. “I realize that. In fact, it will probably work against me.”
“Then why not look up auditions in another theatre?”
The thought had not entered Muriel’s mind. But she shook her head. “This isn’t something I’m forced to do to survive. If I don’t succeed, I’ll know it wasn’t meant to be. And I can’t imagine working for anyone but Jewel and Grady.”
Mrs. Steel slanted a sage look at her. “Can you imagine paying a
thousand
pounds . . . in advance?”
Do you really want to do this?
Muriel asked herself. She did. “I have a cheque in my bag.”
“With no guarantee that you’ll win the part?”
“No guarantee.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Steel motioned toward a writing table near the window. “You’ll find a pen in the drawer.”
****
Every afternoon following, Ham delivered Muriel to Grosvenor Street, with the exception of Friday, his afternoon off, when she took another cab. She had ceased caring whether or not her servants had guessed the nature of these calls, though she did not discuss them even with Mrs. Burles.
For the audition, Mrs. Steel chose the part in Act I, Scene I, where Lady Audley’s first husband, George Talboys, reappears in her life. It is one of the more difficult parts, she explained, because it begins with a soliloquy where Lady Audley explains how she happened to marry again while George was in India.
“I chose this part after ringing Mrs. McGuire and—”
“You spoke with Jewel?” Muriel said with a leap of pulse.
She had not yet informed Jewel and Grady of her plan. For a reason she could not fathom, just the idea of doing so caused a queasiness in the pit of her stomach.
“I didn’t mention
you.
I simply asked how everyone was getting on. But with some strategic questions, I learned that the actor assisting with the auditions will be Mansel Robbs and that he has already been assigned the part of George Talboys.”
“Assisting?” Muriel asked.
“I forget how green you are,” Mrs. Steel said. “He will be onstage with script in hand, ready to assume any supporting role needed—male or female.”
“Hmm,” Muriel said with a little nod, though she had not a clue where this was leading and hoped Mrs. Steel would explain before she was forced to ask.
“You see, even though Mr. Webb—he’s the stage director—will announce every act and scene for the McGuires’ benefit, every actress who steps out onstage will first have to show Mr. Robbs the actual spot in the script where she is to begin. Only after he finds his place can she assume the role of Lady Audley.”
“Hmm.”
Mrs. Steel rolled her eyes. “Just hear me out and you’ll understand. I happen to know that Mr. Robbs is a perfectionist and will probably have memorized his entire part by then. You should assume that he has and step from the wings as Lady Audley, not taking time to fumble with the script. If you begin immediately with the soliloquy, he’ll have time to recall his lines and know where to step in.”
“And if he hasn’t memorized them?” Muriel asked.
“Then you’ll look ridiculous. But when you only have a slim chance, you have to take the greater risk to gain an edge. And if I were you, I would learn as much of the scene that follows yours as possible. One never knows.”
She also taught Muriel correct deportment onstage.
“Don’t lock your knees together like that,” she said as
Muriel practiced standing sideways to the pretend audience to address George.
Muriel looked down at her skirt. “How can you tell?”
“Because you’re as stiff as a palace guard. Advance the leg that’s farthest from the audience out ahead of the other, about the length of your foot.”
When Muriel complied, the actress nodded. “There. Much more natural and graceful.”
Even her entry was practiced, with the doorway to the drawing room representing the divider between wings and stage.
“Your entry is your first and therefore most valuable impression,” Mrs. Steel said. “Novices tend to lunge out from the wings when their names are called. You must take a moment to step back several feet. Take a deep breath, then another, until you
become
Lady Audley. Begin your walk from there, and mind that your steps are firm and decided.”
Muriel spent the mornings striving to commit her part so deeply to memory that the line between her own thoughts and the words in the script became blurred. She even performed her daily routines, such as rubbing glycerin into her skin and stirring sugar into her tea, as if she were Lady Audley. Three days of intermittent rain showers beginning on the fifteenth assuaged her guilt somewhat over not having time to join her daughter on the daily walks. She still managed to get up to the nursery at bedtime and sat in the day-nursery rocking chair two mornings, studying lines as Georgiana and her nanny played with blocks or arranged furniture in the doll house.
“Read the book to me, Mama?” her daughter said one of those mornings, propping elbows on Muriel’s knees.
“I’m afraid this isn’t a proper story for you, dear,” Muriel replied, running fingers through her daughter’s curls.
After the audition you’ll have more time,
she reminded herself and was guiltily relieved when Georgiana took one of her books over to Nanny Prescott.
****
She was stepping down from the coach in front of her house after another lesson on the eighteenth when Mrs. Fiske from three doors down happened to be passing on the pavement. “Will there be war, do you think?” the older woman asked after an exchange of pleasantries.
“War?” Muriel sent a panicked glance toward the house. “With whom?”
“Between Spain and the States. The battleship
Maine
was sunk in Havana, and over two hundred sailors were killed. Have you not seen the newspapers?”
“Ah, I’ve been rather busy. My daughter and all.” Relief swamped Muriel. She had no idea where Havana was, but Spain and the United States were not England, so there was no risk to her family. At least from any
war,
she amended, thinking of Douglas.
Jewel telephoned an hour later, asked, “How are you keeping?”
“Fine, thank you.” And so that her cousin would not be added to the list of those who thought her ill informed, Muriel added, “Isn’t it a pity about those sailors?”
“Yes, a pity,” Jewel said at length. She mentioned the possibility of war, just as Mrs. Fiske had, but then thankfully changed the subject. “Sorry, but I can’t speak long. We’re meeting with Mr. Cumberland and Mr. Fry in a bit.”
“Oh dear,” Muriel said. “Are you in trouble?”
“I don’t think so. They’ve been in the business long enough to know there are ups and downs. But listen—Mother and Father will be arriving in town tonight. Why don’t you and Georgiana join us for lunch at Catherine’s tomorrow?”
Muriel was quite fond of Aunt Virginia and Uncle James, who were much calmer than her own parents. And she was a little relieved that Catherine would see fit to have her in her home—even if it was Jewel who did the inviting. But she could not afford to miss one day of her acting lessons. “I’ve a wretched cold. Must be the rain.”
****
“Have you informed the McGuires yet?” Mrs. Steel asked on the twenty-first.
“I’ve not,” Muriel confessed.
“You fear that just knowing they have misgivings will destroy your confidence in yourself.” The actress smiled at Muriel’s astounded look. “I’ve worn your shoes, dear. I didn’t even inform my parents of my first audition at sixteen.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Yet I didn’t have to
face
them at the theatre. How will you feel having the McGuires there appraising you professionally?”
Muriel thought it over. “I’ll remind myself that I’m Lady Audley and that she’s never met them.”
“Good for you! And as it’s Mr. Webb who’ll arrange the order of the readings, you’ll probably not even see them until you step out onstage. The houselights will be low, so it will be easy to pretend they’re not there.”
“Do you think I have a chance?” Muriel asked.
“Honestly?”
“Yes, please.”
Mrs. Steel gave her a droll little smile. “Frankly . . . only if every experienced actress is struck by lightning between now and Tuesday.”
Disappointment thickened Muriel’s throat. “I’m that bad?”
“Actually, you’re quite good. But hoping you have a chance will only make you too tense to be natural. Just go out there and put on a good performance, but only for the sake of the performance. That is my final advice to you.”
Fourteen
Mr. Webb was a birdlike man, with a high-beaked nose and red hair winging out from a peak at the forehead. He even walked like a bird, leaning forward with elbows protruding in back and feet splayed outward. Comical as were his mannerisms, he took his position as stage director seriously, running a tight theatrical ship. Actresses reading for parts were not permitted to loiter in the wings, but were required to stay in the greenroom until summoned by Lewis, the script boy, in alphabetical order, no matter what their range of experience.
The
known
actresses, with whom Jewel had consulted privately during the previous weeks, would not have been asked to audition should any have accepted the part. But none had, thus, Jewel and Grady sat in the third row in the auditorium, quietly comparing notes.
At least Daphne Lloyd would not be auditioning, though she was to continue playing the part of Juliet for the final week of production. Only yesterday she had informed Jewel that her heart wasn’t in acting, that she planned to return to Newnham College after Easter break to resume her studies in mathematics.
“Ellen Brand,” Mr. Webb announced from the stage. “Reading from act two, scene one.”
Jewel knew the play practically by heart. This would be the scene where Luke, the blackmailer, confronts Lady Audley. A young actress with brown hair hurried to center stage, where Mansel Robbs waited. Miss Brand consulted with him briefly in whispers; he shuffled pages in his script, nodded, then began reading.
“It wouldn’t do for us to be enemies; at least I don’t think it would answer your purpose.” Mr. Robbs held out his hand menacingly. “Come, tip up!”
Shrinking back a bit, Miss Brand asked, “What money do you expect?”
“Her voice is too high,” Jewel whispered.
Grady nodded.
“A hundred pounds will do now,” Mr. Robbs quoted without looking at the script.
A calculating look crossed Miss Brand’s face. “I shall bring it to your house; I have not so much with me.”
“But her voice carries well,” Jewel whispered again. “She
could
make a good Phoebe, do you think?” She had already assigned that part to Corrie Walters, who was doing a fine job as Juliet’s nurse, but the role still had a lot of stage time and thus needed an understudy.
“How can I get rid of that man?” Miss Brand was saying, delivering the soliloquy that followed George’s exit. “Shall a boor, a drunkard, a ruffian, hold me in his grasp ready to crush me when he pleases?”
“I think so if
you
think so,” Grady whispered. He enjoyed the auditions, giving his input, but the ultimate casting decisions he left in Jewel’s hands. Just as she left the accounting in his.
But for the moment, it was far too soon to tell. Jewel scribbled Miss Brand’s name in her notebook, with
Phoebe?
beside it.
“How do I know,” Miss Brand continued, staring out into the empty balcony seats, “even if I bribe him into silence, that in some drunken moment he may—”
“Thank you, Miss Brand,” Jewel said when the actress paused for breath. With thirty-seven other hopefuls waiting in the greenroom, she would have to hurry the process along. And of truth, a cook didn’t have to consume a whole pot of soup to know if it was fit for the dinner table. “Please see that Mr. Webb has an address where you may be reached.”