Yet at that, Sir John smiled. “No, lad, I know of none such, except for the menagerie in Windsor Castle. And perhaps one day we shall be able to visit there. But until then, what would you say to a trip to the theater tonight?”
“Here in Bath, sir?”
“Indeed! I heard about it only this noontime when I sent you off to search for Lady Fielding. It was that boring fellow from Bristol told me. You remember him? He was still talking when you returned. At any rate, he told me of the theater, said where we might look for it, and informed me that a new actor named Courtney will play Hamlet tonight. What think you of that, Jeremy?”
What I thought of it was precisely what the rest did: that a trip to the theater would be a welcome break in the routine into which we had settled after only a few days’ time. In the event, it proved to be far more worthwhile than that. Though our seats were not the best, that mattered nothing to Sir John and little to the rest of us, for Mr. Courtney was the kind of actor who made the most of his vocal presentation. He had little else to work with. Not a tall man, he tended toward corpulence and in no wise possessed a commanding presence — except when he spoke. Then did he become a greater man altogether: His resonant voice filled the theater; he found the music in the words of the poet by making good use of the pauses, so that the great soliloquies were delivered in a stately rhythm as one might indeed expect from a prince. At the recess, Sir John sang Mr. Courtney’s praises and would hear no criticism of the actor’s physical limitations, his occasional awkwardness in movement, et cetera. All that, he swept aside and did insist, as he had upon other occasions, that in playing Shakespeare, all was in the music of the words. “And Mr. Courtney,” he added, “has learned all the songs.”
Whether in spite of or because of our disagreement on this matter, we judged our theater outing to be a great success; we talked of the play and Mr. Courtney’s portrayal of the Danish prince all the way back to the Bear, and even took the matter up next morning at breakfast.
Of that evening there remains only one more thing to be said, and that had naught to do with any of the players but, rather, with one of the audience. It so happened that as the curtain descended a final time, the applause died away, and the small auditorium began to empty, Clarissa caught sight of one known to both of us moving parallel to us in the far aisle. She tugged at my sleeve and, having caught my attention, nodded in the direction in which she wished me to look. It was the young man who had spoken to us two in Kingsmead Square, showing us the way from there to the Bear Tavern; it was him I thought to be the claimant. He smiled and nodded politely in recognition. I saw that he was quite alone and without companion. Neither the bearded older man whom Clarissa had branded “sinister,” nor Mrs. Paltrow accompanied him as he made his way to the door. Somehow I felt glad because of that.
“I saw him earlier,” said Clarissa, whispering in my ear, “during the recess.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
She looked at me queerly. “But why? Was there something you wanted to say to him? “
I thought about that for a moment and shook my head in the negative. It occurred to me that if indeed I were to speak to him, I should probably ask him why he had spent eight years in the North American colonies and failed all through that time to communicate with his mother. That was what puzzled me most.
Yet I had not the chance to ask him anything at all, for as it happened, those in the far aisle moved along much faster than we were able to do, and he had quite vanished by the time our party had reached the door. It was probably just as well. If there were introductions to be made, it would surely have been awkward.
Next morning, at Lady Fielding’s insistence, we sallied forth to Spring Gardens for breakfast. While taking the waters, she had heard from one of the ladies that the breakfast rolls served there — fresh, hot, and dripping with butter — were among the great treats that the town had to offer. As we discovered, her informant was quite correct. To me, they seemed especially satisfying, for one was given the choice of having them with tea or coffee. Naturally, being something of an addict, I asked for coffee. And when the server came round again, I accepted another cup and received with it a frown from Lady Fielding.
“Jeremy,” said she, “is it good to drink so much coffee? Surely it will keep you from sleeping sound.”
“I’ve not had trouble in the past,” said I. “Besides, I don’t really have the opportunity to drink it often.” Which was indeed a gross misstatement, for it was not opportunity I lacked, but, rather, money. Had I more of it, I should have had coffee two or three times a day — and what heaven that would be!
“Even so,” said she, “you drink a great deal of it.”
“Ah, Kate,” said Sir John, “leave the lad be. We ought to be happy that it’s coffee he craves and not gin.”
“Jack! At his age? What a thought!”
“Look in the faces of some of those who sleep in the gutters, and you’ll see that many are younger than Jeremy.”
Lady Fielding shuddered at that. Yet I knew, having walked Bedford Street of an early Sunday morning, that he was quite right. I had seen children of ten in the condition he described.
“But tell me, Kate, “ resumed Sir John, “what will you and Clarissa be doing during the rest of the morning? I take it you’ll not be going off to the baths this particular morning?”
“No, I believe I have got all the benefit I can from them. In fact,” said she, “they’ve done me a world of good. That little tic I had in my back is gone, and I’ve a spring in my step once again.”
“I’m happy to hear it, my dear.”
“Clarissa has told me of a large and quite marvelous bookshop not far from here. I believe we shall go and make a visit. There is surely no pleasanter place to pass the time than a bookshop.”
Having heard this, I glanced over at Clarissa and gave her a proper grin. She in return winked broadly at me, contorting her features most comically. At that, quite unable to help myself, I burst out laughing. Naturally, neither Sir John nor Lady Fielding saw Clarissa’s part in this.
The magistrate’s forehead knit into a frown. “Jeremy lad, what has got into you? Is this some bizarre effect of your coffee drinking? “
“Uh, no, sir, naught but silliness, I fear.”
“Well, show a little restraint if you will, for we must make a return visit to Kingsmead Square, and I wish you to behave in a proper manner. We want no more difficulty with the Widow Paltrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Indeed, we should be on our way. Does anyone see the server about? Wave him over, and I shall pay. Wonderful breakfast rolls, were they not?”
There was no difficulty in finding our way once again to Kingsmead Square. And while the area seemed no less dismal than before, it was not near so deserted. I was rather surprised to see that a group of people had gathered before one of the structures in the middle of the square. They seemed to be variously occupied: Two stood on either side of the door to the house as if guarding against intruders; two more appeared to be deep in discussion — gesticulating, nodding — before the open door. And looking on, also talking amongst themselves, were a goodly number of neighbors, men and women, and a child or two. All this, it seemed to me, could mean only no good, for such groupings (as I knew quite well from life in London) usually meant that misfortune of some sort had been visited upon the house where all had gathered. Since, as we drew closer, I saw that the house in question was Number 6 Kingsmead Square, where we had visited the Widow Paltrow the afternoon before, I became alarmed and told Sir John of the scene just ahead.
“Perhaps we should hurry,” I suggested.
“No need,” said he with a sigh. “If the gawkers have gathered, then what has happened cannot be undone by our haste.” And as if to prove his point, he slowed from a stroll to an amble; and then, as I led the way into the crowd, he followed at no more than a shuffle.