“He’s writing for a show that’s to open on the Haymarket.”
“I don’t care if he’s writing for the King himself! I want him in that coach on the thirteenth!”
There was silence from John Fox.
“Any other surprises for me, Fox? Any others I should know about? Tell me now. Next you’ll be saying the carpenters have laid down their tools and become sailors.”
John Fox cleared his throat. “We han’t got a carpenter agreed to come, sir.”
“What? Why not?”
“Most o’ them’s got jobs elsewhere, and don’t fancy the trip. They know what it’s like.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Dublin! Have we asked everyone?”
“All but Kellaway.”
Maisie had been only half-listening to the conversation, but now she sat up.
“Send Kellaway up, then.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a pause. “You’ll want to speak to her too.”
“Who?”
“Her. Across the way. Can’t you see her?”
“Ah. Yes.”
“Does she know about Monsieur Richer?” John Fox asked.
“No.”
“She’ll need to know, sir. So’s they can rehearse.”
Philip Astley sighed. “All right, I’ll talk to her after Kellaway. Get him now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s not easy being manager, Fox.”
“I expect not, sir.”
When her father appeared before Mr. Astley, Maisie remained as still as she could in her box, feeling guilty already for eavesdropping, before words had even been exchanged.
“Kellaway, my good man, how are you?” Philip Astley called out, as if Thomas Kellaway were on the other side of the ring rather than standing in front of him.
“Well enough, sir.”
“Good, good. You still packing up the scenery?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s so much to do to get the company on the road, Kellaway. It requires an enormous amount of planning and packing, packing and planning, don’t it?”
“Yes, sir. It be a bit like moving from Dorsetshire to London.”
“Well, now, I suppose you’re right, Kellaway. So it’ll be easy for you this time, now you’ve had the practice.”
“Practice for what, sir?”
“On my word, I’m jumping ahead of myself, an’t I, Fox? I mean packing up and going to Dublin.”
“To Dublin?”
“You do know we’re going to Dublin, don’t you, Kellaway? After all, that’s what you’re packing the scenery for.”
“Yes, sir, but-”
“But what?”
“I-I didn’t think that meant me, sir.”
“Of course it means you! Did you think we wouldn’t need a carpenter in Dublin?”
“I be a chairmaker, sir, not a carpenter.”
“Not for me you’re not. Do you see any chairs around here that you’ve made, Kellaway?”
“Besides,” Thomas Kellaway added, as if Philip Astley had not spoken, “there be carpenters in Dublin could do the job just as well.”
“Not ones who know the scenery as you do, Kellaway. Now, what’s bothering you? I thought you’d welcome a trip to Dublin. It’s a roaring city-you’ll love it, I’m sure. And it’s milder than London in winter. Liverpool too, after. Come now, Kellaway, you wanted to get away from Dorsetshire and see a bit of the world, didn’t you? Here’s your chance. We leave in three days-that’s enough time to pack your things, eh?”
“I-what about my family?”
The seat creaked as Philip Astley shifted his weight. “Well, now, Kellaway, that’s tricky. We’ve to tighten our belts on the road, you see-a smaller company, with no room for extras. A wife’s extra. Even Patty don’t go to Dublin, do she, Fox? So I’m afraid it’s just you, Kellaway.”
Maisie gasped. Luckily the men didn’t hear her.
“But you’ll be back soon, Kellaway-it’s only till March.”
“Tha’ be five months, sir.”
“And you know, Kellaway, your family will be that glad to see you when you get back. Works like a tonic for Patty and me. Absence makes the heart fonder, you know.”
“I don’t know, sir. I’ll have to talk to Anne about it an’ give you an answer tomorrow.”
Philip Astley started to say something, but for once Thomas Kellaway interrupted him. “I have to get back to work now. Excuse me, sir.” Maisie heard the door open and her father leave.
There was chuckling from next door. “Oh, don’t you start, Fox!”
The chuckling continued.
“Damme, Fox, he got the better of me, didn’t he? He actually thinks he has a choice in the matter, don’t he? But I’m the one making decisions here, not a carpenter.”
“Shouldn’t your son be making those decisions, sir? Seeing as he’s the manager.”
Philip Astley heaved another sigh. “You would think so, wouldn’t you, Fox? But look at him.” Maisie glanced down: John Astley was on his horse, dancing sideways across the ring while Miss Hannah Smith watched. “That’s what he does best, not sitting up here making hard decisions. Speaking of which-go and fetch Miss Devine.”
3
John Fox made his way around the gallery to the boxes on the other side. Though Miss Laura Devine must have seen him approaching, she did not move to meet him, or answer the door to his knock, but sat and stared across at Philip Astley. Finally John Fox answered his own knock, opening the door and entering the box, where he leaned over to whisper something in Miss Devine’s ear. He then stood in the doorway and waited.
For a long time she did not move; nor did John Fox. At last, however, she gathered her shawl around her shoulders and stood, shaking out her skirts and patting at her dark hair, which was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, before she took the arm John Fox offered. He then escorted her around the gallery as if it were full of its usual rough customers he must protect her from. When he deposited her at Philip Astley’s box, she said, “Stay, John,” as if his gallantry might soften the blow that was to come. For she knew the blow would come. She had been expecting it for weeks.
Maisie also knew what was to come. She and her mother had watched Miss Devine perform more slowly and clumsily at a recent show and guessed what was wrong. She knew too that John Fox’s presence would make little difference to the outcome-only, perhaps, to the manner in which it was relayed by Mr. Astley.
“Miss Devine, welcome,” Mr. Astley said in a tone completely different from the jocularity he had used with Thomas Kellaway. “Sit down, my dear, sit here next to me. You’re looking a touch pale-don’t she, Fox? We’ll get Mrs. Connell to make you some broth. That’s what she gives me when I’m under the weather, and Patty swears by it, don’t she, Fox?”
Neither John Fox nor Miss Devine responded to his solicitations, which made him burble on even more. “You’ve been watching the rehearsals, have you, my dear? Very exciting, the last night upon us already. And then the move to Dublin once more. On my word, how many more times will we pack up and cross the Irish Sea, eh, Fox?” He cut himself off then, as he realized this was not the most tactful thing to be saying just now.
Indeed, Philip Astley seemed to be momentarily at a loss for words. It only lasted that moment, but it was enough for all the listeners to understand that it was a struggle for him to say what he was to say. Miss Laura Devine had been with Astley’s Circus for ten years, after all, and was-now he found the words-“like a daughter you are to me, my dear, yes, like a daughter. That’s why I know when things have changed, because I know you as well as a father knows his daughter. And things have changed, my dear, han’t they?”
Miss Devine said nothing.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice, Laura?” Philip Astley asked, allowing some of his natural impatience to creep back into his voice. “Half the audience has guessed! Did you really think we wouldn’t notice you getting fatter and slower? Why, you’re making ‘Pig on a Spit’ into the real thing!”