Collins’s face grew somber.
“Yes… he and Lacy are upstairs in the Treasure Room,” he confided, lowering his voice. “They’ve been going at it to a fare-thee-well today—unpaid bills, you know, from the Jubilee. Lacy’s screaming like a banshee.”
“Oh, dear,” Sophie sighed. “Perhaps I should—”
“No… they’ve both asked me today if I know whether you’ve returned from Stratford. Better go up. You don’t have more accounts to place before them, do you?” he asked cautiously.
“Aye, a few,” Sophie admitted. “And George Garrick’s bringing the final tally with him when he returns in two days’ time.”
“Oh my,” replied Collins, shaking his grizzled head. “’Tis been quite a t’do, this Jubilee affair. The news journals have been having a great squawk about it all.”
“Oh… but Collins,” Sophie said, her eyes shining. “Garrick’s
Ode to Shakespeare
was magnificent! I wish you could have seen him!”
“So I’ve heard,” Collins said, appearing more cheerful. “Even the most vicious writers—did you see what Colman wrote!—acknowledged it was Davy’s finest hour.”
“Colman!”
Sophie said with disgust. “I can’t imagine
he’d
be a fair correspondent.”
Sophie mounted the stairs, anxious to report to the managers the good news that the loose ends at Stratford were nearly tied up. As she approached Garrick’s office and the Treasure Room, loud voices floated down the passageway.
“John Payton charged us for every sip of porter, regardless of who imbibed it!” Lacy fumed. “Look at these accounts, Davy! They’ve ruined us!
Ruined us,
I say!”
“Oh, do be quiet about the porter, James!” Garrick replied. “If it upsets you so,
I’ll
pay for the bloody drinks.”
“Excellent!” Lacy retorted. “Your
brother
drank most of it!”
Hesitantly, Sophie ventured a few soft raps on the door.
“Who is it?” Lacy barked.
“’Tis I… Sophie McGann,” she said through a six-inch opening, “with the pleasant news the Jubilee is no more… the last of the properties and costumes should arrive here tomorrow.”
“In tatters, I would wager,” Lacy groused. “Come in, come in, might as well give us the bad news all at once and get it over with.”
“We’ll turn this around, I tell you!” Garrick insisted. “Hello, my dear… forgive us partners arguing like fishwives. We both returned home weary and out of sorts—”
“And out of blunt!” Lacy snapped. “And each day it has only grown worse as Davy surprises me with new accountings—like eighteen pounds for
porter!”
“James,” Garrick said sharply.
“Well, let me assure you,” Sophie hastened to interject, “the costumes are in reasonably good condition, except, unfortunately, for the one
I
wore to the ball… Ariel must be made, anew, I’m afraid, and I fully intend to cover the cost.”
“Nonsense!” Garrick replied. “For all your hard work, ’twas the least we could provide.”
James Lacy looked as if he might protest Garrick’s largesse, but instead lapsed into moody silence.
“Well,” said Garrick, indicating that Sophie should take a chair near his desk, “tell me of Stratford—not that I ever wish to see that mud hole again.”
Sophie smiled sympathetically.
“The Rotunda is just about pulled down and all the materials are to be sold in lots, so perhaps you will recoup funds there.”
“Well, that’s something,” Lacy commented sourly.
“And the silk transparencies sustained no damage and were rolled and packed carefully. You certainly will be able to employ the fabric in some future production—”
“Oh, that
is
good news!” Garrick interrupted. “Lacy, did you hear that? The transparencies are intact! ’Twill make mounting our new project much easier if both the costumes and scenes have survived.”
Sophie gazed at her employer closely.
“You are planning something new?” she asked.
“’Tis all very confidential but I intend to stage our Parade of Characters.”
“You mean you hope to recreate part of the Shakespeare Jubilee at Drury Lane?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes… a comic version of it,” Garrick declared, some of his old enthusiasm visible in his expressive eyes. “I have been writing a play about the entire event… a kind of spectacular parody… the good and the ill, the successful and the ludicrous,
everything
will be incorporated!” He began to pace up and down the chamber. “Most exciting of all,” he continued, “I shall
at last
be able to present the Shakespeare pageant we lavished so much time and attention on—only to be thwarted by the deluge. What think you, Sophie, my girl?” Sophie ventured a quick glance in Lacy’s direction, and saw that Garrick’s partner was already shaking his head in the negative. Even so, she smiled encouragingly.
“How witty to poke fun at the rain and the other annoyances. I think ’tis a capital idea, sir… most of the expenses for such a presentation have already been incurred, and I would wager near everyone in London who was unable to remove themselves to Stratford will come to see the Jubilee at Old Drury—if only out of curiosity to learn what all the flummery was about.”
“My sentiments exactly!” Garrick enthused.
“Have you yet begun rehearsals?” she asked suddenly.
“I am still writing… but I hope to have it ready by the end of October.”
“Sir,” Sophie said slowly, recalling Mr. Besford’s polite but firm resolve not to allow her beyond his doorkeeper’s box at Covent Garden, “have you heard rumors that anyone else has anticipated your plans?”
Both Lacy and Garrick looked at her sharply.
“What mean you?” David said. “Have you heard something?”
“No one has told me anything precisely,” she admitted. “As you know, I’ve just returned to the city… but ’twas something Colman said to me when I saw him in Stratford.”
“And what was that?” Lacy demanded.
“Well, begging your pardons, sirs,” she said apologetically, “he declared that day that he had ‘witnessed enough tomfoolery during the Jubilee to ‘create a score of farces,’ and today when I called at Covent Garden to inform Hunter of my return, I was barred from proceeding beyond the stage door because a closed rehearsal was taking place—”
“They’ve got something up their sleeves!” shouted Lacy. “Damnable cheek!”
Sophie hesitated, torn by her loyalty to Drury Lane and her wish to see Hunter succeed at Covent Garden. But what if Colman was mounting a piece aimed both at appropriating the entertaining aspects of the Jubilee and ridiculing Garrick at the same time? What if Hunter’s prodigious talents were being used in aid of such a project?
“You were about to tell us something else?” Garrick said quietly as Sophie bit her lip. “You needn’t, you know.”
“The lass works for us!” Lacy declared. “You must tell us everything you know about those blackguards!”
“I’m fairly certain that I…” Sophie began, feeling miserable. “…that I heard a few measures of ‘Dawn Serenade’ being rehearsed on stage while I stood at the doorkeeper’s box.”
“God’s bones!” Lacy groaned.
Garrick slammed his fist against his desk, which was piled high with the customary number of play scripts. “Well, so be it!” he bellowed. “I will match my musical extravaganza with Colman’s any day! He may mock me, but I’ll wager he could never guess I intended to poke fun at
m’self,
and therein lies our secret weapon. Lacy! We must strike first! We must discover exactly what they plan to do upon their stage—and
when!”
Both men stared silently at Sophie who returned their gaze, feeling deeply distressed.
“I cannot ask Hunter… I simply cannot,” Sophie declared, anguished. “I would be forcing him to be disloyal in a way I would never be disloyal to you!”
Garrick sighed and stole a look at his partner.
“You shame us, my dear. Of course, you cannot be our spy.”
The two men exchanged glances for a moment and then declared simultaneously, “Mavis Piggott!”
“Fortunately, Mrs. Piggott has not your scruples, Sophie,” Lacy snorted. “We shall ask her immediately to nose about and see if she can confirm what they’re up to—and when they plan to strike!”
“Meanwhile,” Garrick mused, “just in case they’re quite advanced in their devilish plans, I shall mount my
Ode to Shakespeare
on stage
this
week and bill it as the precursor to a spectacular production to be presented soon at Drury Lane. At least we shall gain the credit for recreating the most successful aspect of the Jubilee ahead of our competitors!”
“How soon can you put it on… the ode, I mean?” Sophie asked.
“Well, let’s see…” Garrick replied, his eyes scanning a schedule of the repertory lying on his desk. “Let us say we present the ode in three… four…
five
days time! September thirtieth! How is that? Covent Garden’s already posted its fare for the week. Old Drury will perform the ode as a surprise afterpiece
this
Saturday and stage it like an oratorio… the singers round me in a semicircle… the orchestra on a platform behind me… and my chair.
Jesu,
Sophie… did my chair leave Stratford in one piece?”
“’Tis here, ’tis here,” Lacy said soothingly. “I saw the stage servants uncrate it today.”
“Splendid!” Garrick declared. “And we shall go ahead full tilt on our major extravaganza. I can begin rehearsals on the first act tomorrow, in
strictest
secrecy, of course.” He glanced at Sophie. “Will that be possible for you, Sophie dear?” he asked intently.
She smiled wanly and shook her head affirmatively.
“Until all this is concluded,” she replied, “my personal policy shall be—that I shall repeat to both you and to Hunter
only
what is publicly known about events unfolding at the competing theaters. ’Tis all I can think to do. Will that be satisfactory, gentlemen?”
Lacy scowled but Garrick patted her hand approvingly.
“We shall employ Mavis to do the nasty bits and reward her with a juicy part in
Romeo and Juliet,
shall we not, Lacy?” he chortled. He placed his hands on his desk. “So, ’tis decided. Closed rehearsals, tight security. I shouldn’t think we could be ready with the full-length version of our musical spoof until… mmmm, I’d say Saturday, October thirteenth. Colman’s production may beat us to the stage, but we shall have taken the wind out of his sails with our
Ode to Shakespeare,
eh what?” Garrick jumped up from his seat. Extending his arms to sketch his ideas in the air, he announced, “Then we shall hit them with the Parade of Characters, the ode again… the jugglers, the harlots, the runaway horses… the hawkers, the hairdressers, the toffs sleeping in their coaches!”
“And the
rain,”
Sophie added.
“Ah yes….we’ll recreate the blasted downpours by rattling great sheets of tin offstage,” Garrick said, chortling. “Drury Lane will present the most stupefying spectacle London has ever seen!”
“Bravo!” Lacy exclaimed, slapping his partner on the back, his ill humor now transformed into a burning desire to hoist George Colman by his own petard. “And you know what I like
best
about this little scheme of yours, Davy my boy?” Lacy said with a baleful gleam in his eye. “We’ve already paid the bills for the scenery and costumes, and… it never
really
rains
inside Drury Lane!”
Garrick nodded emphatically.
“By God, we shall best ’em,” he declared, “and make a fortune
doing
it!”
***
On her way out, Sophie waved as she passed by the stage doorkeeper’s box once again.
“Sophie?” a voice called after her. “Sophie, wait! ’Tis me… Lorna! Lorna Blount!”
Sophie whirled and walked toward the curtained wings, throwing her arms around her friend.
“Oh, Lorna, how good it is to see you!” she exclaimed. Sophie stepped back to survey her. “So, you’ve signed with Old Drury, have you?”
“Aye,” Lorna beamed, “and Collins, here, says you’ve been working with Garrick too! I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you looking yourself again. Will you be printing the playbills?”
Sophie nodded, humbled by her friend’s lack of rancor, considering the indifference she had shown toward Lorna in the years that followed Danielle’s death.
“Aye, and some play
writing,
I hope,” she said quietly. She gazed somberly at her former companion. “I was going to seek you out… I’ve only arrived back in London this afternoon. Can we sup tonight?”