Authors: Beth Trissel
Will
gave no argument. Julia suspected she was too.
His i
rate grandmother and her
offended party stopped just inside the gate with
curious onlookers
trailing behind.
Mrs.
Wentworth
stabbed her cane at her
grandson.
“What do you me
an taking off like that, sir?
And who in blazes are you dating?
Is it h
er?” she asked, jabbing
her stick
at Julia.
“Come on
.
O
ut with it.
Do y
ou really expect us to believe it’s a man?”
Will gestured at the Aussie.
“Nora
Wentworth
, Mr. and Mrs. Patterson, meet Lyle McChesney, my particular friend.”
The big man appeared ready to fall off his cycle but he said
nothing, only stared at Will. Julia did the same.
Will had either had a stroke of genius or
been struck mad
.
His
grandmother narrowed her eyes
at him
. “Really, William.
The brick mason?”
Lyle st
uck out his chest indignantly. “Only my day job, Ma’am.
I’m a
trained
Shakespearian actor.”
At the word,
Shakespeare
, Nora
was
transformed.
“Why didn’t you say s
o in the first place, William?
Oh, n
ever mind that now.
Do you play
Hamlet
,
Mr.
McChesney?”
Lyle grinned wolfishly.
“
None better.”
“William
will play the melancholy Dane
,
but we are in need of a
Laertes.
Do you fence?”
“Doesn’t every true actor?”
“Ah, yes,” she agreed with a
sigh of rich satisfaction. “Spoken like a real trooper.
Then it’s settled.”
“What is?” Mr. and Mrs. Patterson
chorused.
“Why the play
. What else?
Douglas, you will
play the uncle,” she informed
Mr.
Patterson.
B
eefy face flushed
, he gaped
at her
.
“
Do stop gawping, man.
You
act
, don’t you
?”
“Once.”
“Resume the art
.
It will
do you good.
”
Mrs. Wentworth
swiveled her head at Will.
“
Rehearsa
ls begin this evening, sir,”
she
adde
d as though bargaining with him
in that odd way they had of relating
.
He gave a nod
.
“What about
Nelle
?” her mother wailed.
“
There aren’t many roles for women but I expec
t we can find her something,
”
the eccentric
woman said distractedly.
“Not
that,” Mrs. Patterson emphasized
.
“I thought we were here to discuss Will and
Nelle
’s
possible nuptials?”
The imperious Nora gave an impatient shr
ug. “Now? Don’t be ridiculous, Loraine.
We’ve
Hamlet
to produce and a ball to get underway.”
Julia looked on i
n disbelief.
Will seemed to have gained a re
prieve with his grandmother, though he still had considerable
explaining to d
o to her, if that were even possible after his behavior
––
or lack of it.
“Miss Morrow,” his grandmother
summoned.
She startled
. “
Yes?”
“Com
e back and finish your brunch. You too, sir.
Nelle
had to leave.
We have
the room to ourselves.
It’s the perfect time to go over you
r lines.
Douglas, dash round to the nearest bookstore and purchase the play.”
Clearly,
no match for such an indomitable force
,
Mr. Patterson wore a defeated look. “Perhaps I’d best get several copies.”
“Excellent, Douglas. Just the sort of initiative we n
eed.”
With that, the regal old
girl extended her arm to Julia.
She took it
––
she didn’t dare refuse
––
and they
swung back toward the inn.
William and the addled Loraine fell in behind, but not before Julia had let him know with a sharp glance just where he stood with her.
Chapter Ten
A
motley troupe
of players and non-actors
collected
in the great hall, a
mix of
employees and friends coerced into this drama by the relentless Nora.
Grudging as the participants might be, the old lady was in her glory
.
D
espite his annoyance at having this production
thrust at him,
Will was glad to see her so energized, l
ike an ancient vessel rigged out with fresh sails skimming
over the sea under a new wind.
She
sat tall and straight
in a high-backed Queen Anne chair, the mink draped over her shoulders, the versatile
cane in her aged hand.
Will didn’t doubt s
he’d use it now to direct
the cast clustered
around her like some
bizarre gathering of co
urtiers.
Lyle was the most unlikely
of the
m all, and yet, the only one here
apar
t from Will with the most actual
experience.
And he was
a
good
actor
,
confound
him,
much as Will
hated to admit it.
Julia sat huddled
in a chair looking s
trained and vulnerable.
She bore an unsettling resemblance to
Ophelia, almost as if Shakespeare had written the lines
with her in mind
.
If only Will could have five minutes alone with her he could sooth her troubled spirit,
he was sure of it,
but
they hadn’t had five minutes.
She’d been silent and tense on the drive back to Foxleigh and he hadn’t been in the mood to talk it out
with her
then
.
Now, he wished he’d exerted himself
.
Eyes bright, h
is grandmother
tapped her cane.
She wasn’t concerned about
Julia, or anyone else for that matter
.
Nothing
and no one
was paramount
to her
except
this play, and she was single minded about
getting
it
off the ground.
She cleared her throat.
“A
ll right, folks.
Let’s begin,” she said
in an unusually strong voice.
“
Thank you for taking part in this momentous occasion.
”
A polite round of applause followed, and she paused to nod graciously before continuing.
“
For thos
e of you
new
to the play,
I will
give you
the setting.
” Here, the old lady
cam
e into her own,
bent forward, her tone filled with mys
tery.
“Imagine if you will a handsome young prince called Haml
et.
His father is dead, and Hamlet’s
g
rief
is
black.
Rather than opening with the funeral
,
though,
we shall co
mmence with the haunting.
”
Anyone in the assembly unaware of a ghostly presence in the play perked up. And everyone seemed more attentive
, despite themselves, as the story teller wove on
.
“
We shall
have props later,
but
for
now
,
e
nvision this hall as a dark medieval castle in Denmark
at
the dead of night.
Hamlet
has heard
his father’s spirit roams the battlement
at
this haunted hour
.
He and
h
is friends are
there
watching for th
e royal specter
.
We will
make do with one friend until I can recrui
t others.” She swept her hand at them
.
“William, Dave, center stage.”
Will knew his lines but Dave, the gardener
whom
his grandmother had pressed
into playing Horatio, held a dog-eared script in his callused hand. He bent his red ne
ck over the pages and squinted.
“Which is me, Mrs.
Wentworth
?”
“I’ve mar
ked your part,” she told him
.
“And we’ve abbreviated the lines, a sort of condensed version.”
Shakespeare would turn in his grave at the butchering she’d done to his work, but there was not
hing for it other than
to enter into the spirit of the evening. Will strode to the middle of the hall, h
is mind only half on the play.
He was
suited for
the p
art of Hamlet, though, feeling
brooding enough.
He glanced
around
as if seeing only dark battlements
and rubbed his ha
nds together, blowing on them.
“‘
The air bites shrew
dly. I
t is very cold
.
’”
Dave no
dded, h
is head ringed with the hat hair
effect left from
his gardening cap.
He rubbed a grizzled chin with thick fingers, stumbling as he
spoke in his Southern twang.
“‘
It is a nipping and an
eager air.’”
He paused
.
“What does that mean?”
“He ag
rees with H
amlet that it’s cold,” Will explained
.
“My line.
‘
What hour now?
’
”
Glancing
at his wrist
as though
that would enhance the
scene, Dave drawled,
“‘I think it lacks of twelve.
’
”
Will shook his head at him.
“No watches then, Dave.”
“Right.
Sorry.”
Their director
interrupted
at this point
.
“Let’s get on to the ghost,” Nora said
in her erratic manner.
Dave adopted a bug-eyed
expression
Wil
l supposed was intended to mime
fear and pointed shakily.
“‘
Look
,
my lord
,
it comes.’”
Will raised his eyes to
the secon
d floor landing where Joe, the
other gardener, stood beckoni
ng
to him
with white fingers.
The lime dust
powdering him from an application to the lawn lent some cred
ibility to his ghostly effort, b
ut not a lot.
Will pressed his fist to his mouth, partly to keep from la
ughing, and then
dropped his hand so as not to muffle the words.