Manly Wade Wellman - Judge Pursuivant 02 Read online

  These structures were in the best of repair, but appeared intensely dark and weathered, as though the afternoon sky shed a brownish light upon them. The lodge that was now the theater stood clear in the center of the sizable cleared space, although lush-looking clumps and belts of evergreen scrub grew almost against the sheds and the boathouse. I was enough of an observer to be aware that the deep roofs were of stout ax-cut shingles, and that the heavy timbers of the walls were undoubtedly seasoned for an age. The windows were large but deep-set in their sturdy frames. Those who call windows the eyes of a house would have thought that these eyes were large enough, but well able to conceal the secrets and feelings within.

  As we emerged from the car, I felt rather than saw an onlooker. Varduk stood in the wide front door of the lodge building. Neither Jake nor I could agree later whether he had opened the door himself and appeared, whether he had stepped into view with the door already open, or whether he had been standing there all the time. His slender, elegant figure was dressed in dark jacket and trousers, with a black silk scarf draped Ascot fashion at his throat, just as he had worn at his hotel in New York. When he saw that we were aware of him, he lifted a white hand in greeting and descended two steps to meet us coming toward him. I offered him my hand, and he gave it a quick, sharp pressure, as though he were investigating the texture of my flesh and bone.

  "I am glad to see you here so soon, Mr Connatt," he said cordially. "Now we need wait only for Miss Vining, who should arrive before dark. Miss Holgar came yesterday, and Davidson this morning."

  "There will be only the six of us, then?" I asked.

  He nodded his chestnut curls. "A caretaker will come here each day, to prepare lunch and dinner and to clean. He lives several miles up the road, and will spend his nights at home. But we of the play itself will be in residence, and we alone-a condition fully in character, I feel, with the attitude of mystery and reserve we have assumed toward our interesting production. For breakfasts, Davidson will be able to look after us."

  "Huh!" grunted Jake. "That Davidson can act, manage, stage-hand, cook-he does everything."

  "Almost everything," said Varduk dryly, and his eyes turned long and expressionlessly upon my friend, who immediately subsided. In the daylight I saw that Varduk's eyes were hazel; on the night I had met him at his hotel they had seemed thunder-dark.

  "You, too, are considered useful at many things around the theater, Switz," Varduk continued. "I took that into consideration when Miss Holgar, though she left her maid behind, insisted on including you in the company. I daresay, we can depend on you to help Davidson with the staging and so on."

  "Oh, yes, sure," Jake made reply. "Certainly. Miss Holgar, she wants me to do that."

  "Very good." Varduk turned on the heel of his well-polished boot. "Suppose," he added over his shoulder, "that you take Mr Connatt up to the loft of the boathouse. Mr Connatt, do you mind putting up with Switz?"

  "Not in the least," I assured him readily, and took up two of my bags. Jake had already lifted the third and heaviest.

  We nodded to Varduk and skirted the side of the lodge, walked down to the water, then entered the boathouse. It was a simple affair of well-chinked logs. Two leaky-looking canoes still occupied the lower part of it, but we picked our way past them and ascended a sturdy staircase to a loft under the peaked roof: This had been finished with wall-board and boasted a window at each end. Two cots, a rug, a wash-stand, a table and several chairs made it an acceptable sleeping-apartment.

  "This theater is half-way to the never-never land," I commented as I began to unpack.

  "I should live so-I never saw the like of it," Jake said earnestly. "How are people going to find their way here? Yesterday I began to talk about signs by the side of the road. Right off at once, Varduk said no. I begged like a poor relation left out of his uncle's will. Finally he said yes-but the signs must be small and dignified, and put up only a day before the show begins."

  I wanted to ask a question about his adventure of the previous night, but Jake shook his head in refusal to discuss it. "Not here," he said. "Gib, who knows who may be listening?" He dropped his voice. "Or even what might be listening?"

  I lapsed into silence and got out old canvas sneakers, flannel slacks and a Norfolk jacket, and changed into them. Dressed in this easy manner, I left the boathouse and stood beside the lake. At once a voice hailed me. Sigrid was walking along the water's edge, smiling in apparent delight.

  We came face to face; I bent to kiss her hand. As once before, it fluttered under my lips, but when I straightened again I saw nothing of distaste or unsteadiness in her expression.

  "Gib, how nice that you're here!" she cried. "Do you like the place?"

  "I haven't seen very much of it yet," I told her. "I want to see the inside of the theater."

  She took her hand away from me and thrust it into the pocket of the old white sweater she wore. "I think that I love it here," she said, with an air of gay confession. "Not all of the hermit stories about me are lies. I could grow truly fat-God save the mark!-on quiet and serenity."

  "Varduk pleases you, too?" I suggested.

  "He has more understanding than any other theatrical executive in my experience," she responded emphatically. "He fills me with the wish to work. I'm like a starry-eyed beginner again. What would you say if I told you that I was sweeping my own room and making my own bed?"

  "I would say that you were the most charming housemaid in the world."

  Her laughter was full of delight. "You sound as if you mean it, Gib. It is nice to know you as a friend again."

  It seemed to me that she emphasized the word "friend" a trifle, as though to warn me that our relationship would nevermore become closer than that. Changing the subject, I asked her if she had swum in the lake; she had, and found it cold. How about seeing the theater? Together we walked toward the lodge and entered at a side door.

  The auditorium was as Jake had described it to me, and I saw that Varduk liked a dark tone. He had stained the paneling, the benches, and the beams a dark brown. Brown, too, was the heavy curtain that hid the stage.

  "We'll be there tonight," said Sigrid, nodding stageward. "Varduk has called the first rehearsal for immediately after dinner. We eat together, of course, in a big room upstairs."

  "May I sit next to you when we eat?" I asked, and she laughed yet again. She was being as cheerful as I had ever known her to be.

  "You sound like the student-hero in a light opera, Gib. I don't know about the seating-arrangement. At lunch I was at the head of the table, and Varduk at the foot. Jake and Mr Davidson were at either side of me."

  "I shall certainly arrive before one or the other of them," I vowed solemnly.

  Varduk had drifted in as we talked, and he chuckled at my announcement.

  "A gallant note, Mr Connatt, and one that I hope you can capture as pleasantly for the romantic passages of our Ruthven. By the bye, our first rehearsal will take place this evening."

  "So Miss Holgar has told me," I nodded. "I have studied the play rather prayerfully since Davidson gave me a copy. I hope I'm not a disappointment in it."

  "I am sure that you will not be," he said kindly. "I did not choose disappointing people for my cast."

  Davidson entered from the front, to say that Martha Vining had arrived. Varduk moved away, stiff in his walk as I had observed before. Sigrid and I went through the side door and back into the open.

  That evening I kept my promise to find a place by Sigrid at the table. Davidson, entering just behind me, looked a trifle chagrined but sat at my other side, with Martha Vining opposite. The dinner was good, with roast mutton, salad and apple tart. I thought of Judge Pursuivant's healthy appetite as I ate.

  After the coffee, Varduk nodded to the old man who served as caretaker, cook and waiter, as in dismissal. Then the producer's hazel eyes turned to Sigrid, who took her cue and rose. We did likewise.

  "Shall we go down to the stage?" Varduk said to us. "It's time for our first e
ffort with Ruthven."

  7. Rehearsal

  WE WENT DOWN a back stairway that brought us to the empty stage. A light was already burning, and I remember well that my first impression was of the stage's narrowness and considerable depth. Its back was of plaster over the outer timbers, but at either side partitions of paneling had been erected to enclose the cell-like dressing-rooms. One of the doors bore a star of white paint, evidently for Sigrid. Against the back wall leaned several open frames of wood, with rolls of canvas lying ready to be tacked on and painted into scenery.

  Varduk had led the way down the stairs, and at the foot he paused to call upward to Davidson, who remained at the rear of the procession. "Fetch some chairs," he ordered, and the tall subordinate paused to gather them. He carried down six at once, his long strong arms threaded through their open backs. Varduk showed him with silent gestures where to arrange them, and himself led Sigrid to the midmost of them, upstage center.

  "Sit down, all," he said to the rest of us. "Curtain, Davidson." He waited while the heavy pall rolled ponderously upward against the top of the arch. "Have you got your scripts, ladies and gentlemen?"

  We all had, but his hands were empty. I started to offer him my copy, but he waved it away with thanks. "I know the thing by heart," he informed me, though with no air of boasting. Remaining still upon his feet, he looked around our seated array, capturing every eye and attention.

  "The first part of Ruthven is, as we know already, in iambic pentameter-the 'heroic verse' that was customary and even expected in dramas of Byron's day. However, he employs here his usual trick of breaking the earlier lines up into short, situation-building speeches. No long and involved declamations, as in so many creaky tragedies of his fellows. He wrote the same sort of opening scenes for his plays the world has already seen performed-Werner, The Two Foscari, Marino Faliero and The Deformed Transformed."

  Martha Vining cleared her throat. "Doesn't Manfred begin with a long, measured soliloquy by the central character?"

  "It does," nodded Varduk. "I am gratified, Miss Vining, to observe that you have been studying something of Byron's work." He paused, and she bridled in satisfaction. "However," he continued, somewhat maliciously, "you would be well advised to study farther, and learn that Byron stated definitely that Manfred was not written for the theater. But, returning to Ruthven, with which work we are primarily concerned, the short, lively exchanges at the beginning are Aubrey's and Malvina's." He quoted from memory, "'Scene, Malvina's garden. Time, late afternoon-Aubrey, sitting at Malvina's feet, tells his adventures.' Very good, Mr Connatt, take your place at Miss Holgar's feet."

  I did so, and she smiled in comradely fashion while waiting for the others to drag their chairs away. Glancing at our scripts, we began:

  "I'm no Othello, darling."

  "Yet I am, Your Desdemona. Tell me of your travels."

  "Of Anthropophagi?"

  '"And men whose heads do grow beneath-'"

  "I saw no such, Not in all wildest Greece and Macedon."

  "Saw you no spirits?"

  "None, Malvina-none."

  "Not even the vampire, he who quaffs the blood Of life, that he may live in death?"

  "Not I.

  How do you know that tale?"

  "I've read, In old romances-"

  "Capital, capital," interrupted Varduk pleasantly. "I know that the play is written in a specific meter, yet you need not speak as though it were. If anything, make the lines less rhythmic and more matter-of-fact. Remember, you are young lovers, half bantering as you woo. Let your audience relax with you. Let it feel the verse form without actually hearing."

  We continued, to the line where Aubrey tells of his travel-acquaintance Ruthven. Here the speech became definite verse:

  "He is a friend who charms, but does not cheer,

  One who commands, but comforts not, the world.

  I do not doubt but women find him handsome,

  Yet hearts must be uneasy at his glance."

  Malvina asks:

  "His glance?

  Is it so piercing when it strikes?"

  And Aubrey:

  "It does not pierce-indeed, it rather weighs,

  Like lead, upon the face where it is fixed."

  Followed the story, which I have outlined elsewhere, of the encounter with bandits and Ruthven's apparent sacrifice of himself to cover Aubrey's retreat. Then Martha Vining, as the maid Bridget, spoke to announce Ruthven's coming, and upon the heels of her speech Varduk moved stiffly toward us.

  "Aubrey!" he cried, in a rich, ringing tone such as fills theaters, and not at all like his ordinary gentle voice. I made my due response:

  "Have you lived, Ruthven? But the horde

  Of outlaw warriors compassed you and struck-"

  In the role of Ruthven, Varduk's interruption was as natural and decisive as when, in ordinary conversation, he neatly cut another's speech in two with a remark of his own. I have already quoted this reply of Ruthven's:

  "I faced them, and who seeks my face seeks death."

  He was speaking the line, of course, without script, and his eyes held mine. Despite myself, I almost staggered under the weight of his glance. It was like that which Aubrey actually credits to Ruthven-lead-heavy instead of piercing, difficult to support.

  The rehearsal went on, with Ruthven's seduction of Bridget and his court to the nervous but fascinated Malvina. In the end, as I have synopsized earlier, came his secret and miraculous revival from seeming death. Varduk delivered the final rather terrifying speech magnificently, and then abruptly doffed his Ruthven manner to smile congratulations all around.

  "It's more than a month to our opening date in July," he said, "and yet I would be willing to present this play as a finished play, no later than this day week. Miss Holgar, may I voice my special appreciation? Mr Connatt, your confessed fear of your own inadequacy is proven groundless. Bravo, Miss Vining-and you, Davidson." His final tag of praise to his subordinate seemed almost grudging. "Now for the second act of the thing. No verse this time, my friends. Finish the rehearsal as well as you have begun."

  "Wait," I said. "How about properties? I simulated the club-stroke in the first act, but this time I need a sword. For the sake of feeling the action better-"

  "Yes, of course," granted Varduk. "There's one in the corner dressing-room." He pointed. "Go fetch it, Davidson."

  Davidson complied. The sword was a cross-hilt affair, old but keen and bright.

  "This isn't a prop at all," I half objected. "It's the real thing. Won't it be dangerous?"

  "Oh, I think we can risk it," Varduk replied carelessly. "Let's get on with the rehearsal. A hundred years later, in the same garden, Swithin and Mary, descendants of Aubrey and Malvina, on stage."

  We continued. The opening, again with Sigrid and myself a-wooing, was lively and even brilliant. Martha Vining, in her role of the centenarian Bridget, skilfully cracked her voice and infused a witch-like quality into her telling of the Aubrey-Ruthven tale. Again the entrance of Ruthven, his suavity and apparent friendliness, his manner changing as he is revealed as the resurrected fiend of another age; finally the clash with me, as Swithin.

  I spoke my line-"My ancestor killed you once, Ruthven. I can do the same today." Then I poked at him with the sword.

  Varduk smiled and interjected, "Rather a languid thrust, that, Mr Connatt. Do you think it will seem serious from the viewpoint of our audience?"

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I was afraid I might hurt you."

  "Fear nothing, Mr Connatt. Take the speech and the swordplay again."

  I did so, but he laughed almost in scorn. "You still put no life into the thrust." He spread his hands, as if to offer himself as a target. "Once more. Don't be an old woman."

  Losing a bit of my temper, I made a genuine lunge. My right foot glided forward and my weight shifted to follow my point. But in mid-motion I knew myself for a danger-dealing fool, tried to recover, failed, and slipped.

  I almost fell at full length
-would have fallen had Varduk not been standing in my way. My sword-point, completely out of control, drove at the center of his breast-I felt it tear through cloth, through flesh-

  A moment later his slender hands had caught my floundering body and pushed it back upon its feet. My sword, wedged in something, snatched its hilt from my hand. Sick and horrified, I saw it protruding from the midst of Varduk's body. Behind me I heard the choked squeal of Martha Vining, and an oath from Jake Switz. I swayed, my vision seemed to swim in smoky liquid, and I suppose I was well on the way to an unmasculine swoon. But a light chuckle, in Varduk's familiar manner, saved me from collapsing.

  "That is exactly the way to do it, Mr Connatt," he said in a tone of well-bred applause.

  He drew the steel free-I think that he had to wrench rather hard-and then stepped forward to extend the hilt.

  "There's blood on it," I mumbled sickly.

  "Oh, that?" he glanced down at the blade. "Just a deceit for the sake of realism. You arranged the false-blood device splendidly, Davidson." He pushed the hilt into my slack grasp. "Look, the imitation gore is already evaporating."

  So it was, like dew on a hot stone. Already the blade shone bright and clean.

  "Very good," said Varduk. "Climax now. Miss Holgar, I think it is your line."

  She, too, had been horrified by the seeming catastrophe, but she came gamely up to the bit where Mary pleads for Swithin's life, offering herself as the price. Half a dozen exchanges between Ruthven and Mary, thus:

  "You give yourself up, then?"

  "I do."

  "You renounce your former manners, hopes and wishes?"

  "I do."

  "You will swear so, upon the book yonder?" (Here Ruthven points to a Bible, open on the garden-seat.)

  "I do." (Mary touches the Bible.)

  "You submit to the powers I represent?"

  "I know only the power to which I pray. 'Our Father, which wert in heaven-'"

  Sigrid, as I say, had done well up to now, but here she broke off. "It isn't correct there," she pointed out. "The prayer should read, 'art in heaven'. Perhaps the script was copied wrongly."