Bloody Red Doll, Part 19
Title: Bloody Red Doll
Chapter: 19
First
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Summary: A pampered young nobleman's path to becoming a notorious murderer whose ultimate destiny lies in forces beyond human understanding: the story of Grell Sutcliff.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Grell
Word Count: 4,716
Warnings: Some mild language.
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji and recognizable characters belong to Yana Toboso.
Bloody Red Doll
Part 19
The dream of Paris was over, leaving me to wake up on Monday in my usual bed waiting for the usual carriage like nothing ever happened. All I had from the past two weeks were memories and a few souvenirs…and a few headaches caused by my big mouth and Jacob’s little trap.
I hadn’t spoken to Jacob all weekend and was downright dreading Monday morning when I would be his captive audience in the carriage. This would be his ideal time to press for a bit more information. I readied myself for my day whilst mentally preparing for whatever questions he might throw me, though I knew throwing questions would be a bit too obvious for him.
Deep down I knew there would be no mention of my “business discussions” with Comte de Marteille, he might mention the comte in passing and ask for a few more innocuous details from Paris. Jacob was not one for confrontation unless all of the cards were his hand and he was in a position to throw them at you. All he had now were a few interpretations of my ramblings, though I was sure he would be looking to build more of a case even for his own purposes.
He could have asked me about my visits to see how many lies I could generate, however this would only lead to a direct confrontation. Jacob was not going into any battle until his armory was stocked and ready to obliterate his target. Though what interest would he take in this matter? Would he treat this as a trifle or was this an issue of mortal importance? Who I spent intimate company with would be the trifle, the mortal matter was how much my actions could be exposed and destroy our family’s reputation.
That was all that mattered to Jacob in the end; keeping his vast wealth and reputation; his holy writs were greed and prestige. Any actions by a younger member of the family that could jeopardize all of this were the graver concern, not necessarily what the actions were in the first place. This was especially true for a younger family member he had taken pains to set up and parade around to garner his own esteem. Such an arrangement could attract more esteem for Jacob, but a scandal of this magnitude could ruin him and everything he built.
I doubted, however, that Jacob would put such a social investment in me without understanding all of his risks. The fact he knew much about my rudeness on the younger students at school was only a small portion of what I was aware of, I was sure he had many ways of keeping an eye on all my dealings. Naturally many of my associates acquaintances were his associates and acquaintances and all he needed to do was ask a few casual questions.
I had done nothing that needed hiding since I arrived in London, however would anyone with any ties to King’s Crest start flapping their lips to a supposedly safe individual? I doubted the little bastards themselves would say anything, they would expose themselves just as easily as they would expose me to Jacob. Though someone’s relative or another student or staff member might voice their suspicions. Most King’s Crest students were members of the gentry and their families intermingled constantly. Given Jacob’s vast network of associates, I doubted Earl Phantomhive was the only parent with which Jacob kept regular contact and conversation about my manners and business.
I pushed my paranoia and discomfort aside to greet the carriage that morning and climb in across from my brother. He greeted me with his usual smile and a couple words about “back to the home perch.” I acted casual and tried my best to relax, though stay on my guard. As predicted, there was little talk of the comte other than generic references to our business deal; even I was not picking up any jabs from this. I allowed myself to relax a bit, waiting for that mention at last. We arrived at the office with nothing but the usual polite conversation.
That was it, nary a mention of my visitations, no concerns or suspicions, nothing. The issue seemed nonexistent. Perhaps it was all in my head, perhaps he never suspected a thing. As tempted as I was to think this issue was done, I knew I couldn’t be that stupid even if he was. This conversation just showed his intention to keep everything behind my back.
I cleared the hurdle with Jacob for now, but had to confront the reality of being back to the office. I fully woke from the blissful dream of Paris to the hazy, aching morning of this usual stuffy place and the usual stuffy routine. The dream was over and reality was staring me in the face though I walked around in a tired state with the bittersweet haze of the memory. It just made moving around in my own dull reality that much harder. Quite a few people commented on how hard it must have been to return to the march after such an exhausting journey. By the afternoon I resisted the temptation to smash a few faces in.
I was happy when 5 o’clock came by again, this time more tolerant of the ride with Jacob. Still not a word of any suspicions passed across his lips. I considered it a done matter on the surface though knew I would have to watch my back much more carefully. I stayed home that night and read more lines. I had most of Mercutio’s “Queen Mab” monologue memorized by that point, but it was much more fun rehearsing it between swigs of whisky. Mercutio was a colorful enough character to sound maddeningly happy as he is speaking of love and dreams to Romeo.
I rehearsed my movements and delivery in front of a large mirror and was so amused with how lively I looked, how free. The grand performer up on stage, it was as if my adoring audience was right in front of me. I forgot how many glasses I had at that point. I did remember thinking I would look like so much more of an ethereal actress if I actually had a pretty dress; these trousers and this plain white shirt looked so terribly dull. The thought came to me about that gorgeous red dress I passed by in Paris; I longed to put it on, but alas I passed by it. Why did I do that? It was such a lovely dress and it would have made me look oh so pretty. That sent me crashing on my bed in a fit of weeping.
I would wake to the first light of morning lying half off my bed, fully clothed, head pounding as usual. My eyes stung with old tears; at first I wondered how the hell they got there. The only recollection I had curled me further into a ball. I would be mentally laughing about it during the rest of the day as my headache subsided; an interesting mental distraction from the drudgery of the day.
Through the dark clouds that was my return to London, a little sunlight shone through; my actor friends wished for me to come to the theater and officially read for “Romeo and Juliet” the next Wednesday night. Rehearsals for their previous play were winding down and it was a few days before their performance, the perfect time to test some new talent. I worked a bit more on my form throughout the week, this time watching myself with the liquor and taking this seriously. I prepared Mercutio, but I was ready to get any little part they threw at me. If they wanted me to only play the Apothecary, I would gleefully play the Apothecary. This was after all the first time I had ever taken the stage. I had acted enough in my tender years, this was the first time I did so for sport and not survival.
Wednesday couldn’t come fast enough. I waded through work and a few insipid parties practically counting down the days. At last I came home on Wednesday, put on some plain clothes, and rode to Mersey Hall. The company was milling around when I got there, all of them greeting me with smiles and slaps on the back. They allowed me a few minutes to mentally prepare myself and watch the existing members do preliminary readings. This circle of recitation made me think more of a literary chat group than hard auditions.
There were two other newcomers there, one of which was Colin’s elderly aunt who Colin apparently talked into trying out. The cast’s Romeo, a handsome if not plain fellow in his 20s, introduced his even plainer flatmate as a potential candidate. This was a small theater and not Drury Lane, I was rather amused by this close-knit little group.
At last I took the stage. My heart pounded, my skin wet from sweat, but the closer I got to that stage the giddier I was. I allowed myself a second to gather my bearings and launched into my monologue. After a few seconds I felt as if I had been doing this my whole life; all of those hours acting to the animals or to the servants culminated from play to this one reality. I allowed myself a look down from the stage and saw nothing but smiling faces with eyes fixed right on me. These were genuine smiles and not wooden masks of interest. This just prompted me further. I was only going to do half the monologue, but I went further to finish the speech.
I finished to a round of applause and cheers.
“I believe we have our Mercutio,” Colin said.
My jaw dropped and I went numb for a moment before my mouth curved into one of the widest grins I ever had, so wide my face hurt but it was a wonderful feeling. I wanted to leap from the stage and embrace him, instead I gave a few clumsy bows.
In the end Colin’s Aunt Roberta was cast as the Nurse. The other new boy Ephraim was cast as Benvolio after a reading that was surprisingly rich for his seemingly dull manner. Colin played Lord Capulet, he would also be playing the Apothecary. The role of Paris was taken by an actor who would be mostly managing backstage duties, but would go onstage for this small role. A few actors took on a few small roles each. It was an efficient arrangement; laughably simple, but efficient.
Rehearsal schedules would be decided on a weekly basis depending on everyone’s schedules. We would receive 3 shillings a week per rehearsal and 1 crown a night per performance. Roberta and Ephraim seemed rather delighted to be getting this much. This was not elation that came with having all one’s financial woes solved, this was pleasant delight to have something extra. I had more than a few month’s worth of this pay stuck in my pocket threads; interesting how so little meant so much to these people.
Copies of the script were distributed to the cast, it was going to be so much nicer reading from this than the little book I had been paging through for weeks. This felt so much more official; I was going home with a script for a play in which I had been cast. There was no run to the pub that night, everyone said they had an early day and I decided it would be best to attempt some more sleep as well. The first rehearsal would take place next Tuesday evening, a safe night for me as most of the soirees were taking place on the weekend with the season over.
I hit that script hard over the next week, taking it up the second I got out of work. I would be rehearsing my lines in the same mirror though not with the same glass and bottle at the ready. This was serious business to me and I would take it as such. I would go to work and do my usual routine, all the while running my lines through my head and counting down the days until Tuesday. I did take the habit of putting the script in a bureau drawer when I was done with it. I always had this odd suspicion that someone could suddenly appear on my doorstep or be let into my house by the landlord and see the script sitting on a table.
The thought of this getting out to any member of my family was horrifying, I knew what the reactions would be. Matthew and Jacob would have a few pleasant words about getting distracted from the family’s work, or more likely chastise me for soiling myself and my reputation with such low class company. This was no work for a proper, self-respecting young nobleman with a reputation to uphold. All it would take was for one worker or one off-duty servant to leak word of seeing me on stage to his or her master to sully my name, that was likely what they would say.
I put little worry into any word getting out. This wasn’t the type of theater that received any patronage from the aristocracy; this was strictly the haven of the working slobs as audience and actors. Those who frequented our circles would not even set a toe in this area let along go into a theater. I doubted few servants even looked at me to recognize me. Even if they did, servants didn’t gossip to their bosses unless paid to and this was matter was too silly to have any weight. The lads in our office, quite frankly, seemed too simple to enjoy Shakespeare.
I was mildly curious how my new fellows would react to my actual station if they ever found out. There would probably be a lot of “sir” and “my lord” or a lot of arse kissing for money or entry into my circles. I could see Colin making me his new best friend and subtly milking me for patrons. There could also be sideways glares and comments about how I was mocking their endeavor by being here. This was an establishment for the common man, they would sneer, and I had to have been looking down my nose at their work.
It was best then if neither side knew the other, if I kept my respective masks on tight. It was an interesting masquerade indeed, an intriguing one. Even in the same city, I could establish a whole different identity and a whole different set of affairs completely unknown to all my different circles. It was a thrilling thought.
Our first rehearsal was the next Tuesday at 7:30, I had most everything memorized and felt a bit more comfortable to leap into it. The first rehearsal was mostly a group reading, everyone reading their respective parts and starting the initial cues. It took me a few minutes to understand the flow of delivering dialogue with another person. I was corrected on a few things, but I endeavored to absorb everything as part of the learning experience. The week’s schedule was favorable to all for a more formal rehearsal the next evening. This rehearsal mostly involved Juliet, Lady Capulet, and the Nurse with some work by Romeo and Benvolio. Aunt Roberta left a bit to be desired, her voice reminded me of a cat being skinned. I was most impressed with our Benvolio’s delivery, he was a bit less stiff than he came across offstage.
Colin wanted me to stick around mostly to see how rehearsals were done. He said it would be unlikely we would get to my part tonight, though I should see what the process entailed. I took mental notes the whole time. Juliet was a lovely girl named Jane and gave a natural delivery; Romeo, or Sam, was decent but a bit too melodramatic. I was learning much simply by seeing what I disliked.
There would be another rehearsal Friday evening and then I would have my first opportunity to act with others. I had read this play so many times even before this, giving me a decent idea of Mercutio’s mannerisms and personality. I went onstage with Romeo and Benvolio, listening for the right moments and giving my own lines. It felt like entering a conversation, only in this case every single word was scripted out instead of the sentiment. Colin would give instructions from the floor as to some movements and positions, sometimes he would stop us for recommendations on address. He called me out a few times for having too much of my back to the audience and I soon learned to watch that.
It was near the end of rehearsal when I did the monologue in a more formal way. Colin gave me different cues for my delivery. I lost my lines at one point, feeling the heat of embarrassment only to be relieved by a pleasant call-out by Colin and some good-natured smiles. It was to be expected perhaps. At the end of the speech, Colin stopped the action and got in front of the stage.
“Richard, your delivery so far is impeccable,” he said. “Though you sound a bit stiff, a bit hesitant. You need to plow forward without hesitation, without question. Mercutio is a colorful bloke, you’re nigh there but you need to get as unabashed as he is.”
Colin delivered a few lines of the speech, instructing me on how to loosen myself a bit and I mimicked him exactly, getting the full breadth of his instruction. By the end of rehearsal he told me I was already making improvements and recommended that I practice a few relaxation techniques on a regular basis; deep breathing and light meditation worked wonders. I thanked him for his advice and looked forward to the next rehearsal on Monday.
Colin’s words haunted me all weekend, they floated through my mind on regular intervals like a white fog. I wasn’t reading them as harsh criticism nor was I seeing them as an ill reflection of my acting. They struck me in a more general sense I could not put my finger on. When the weekend was over, after a few teas with Jacob bantering about Earl Phantomhive’s business plans, after a few gatherings of gentlemen discussing how many horses they would invest in this year, after listening to this whilst nodding my head and adding a few contributing words I believe I had my answer.
They called me “the Mad Ginger” at school at the time when I wanted nothing more than to take a long piss on all formalities and politeness. Now my entire existence was formalities and politeness, though had it all been such a change? No wonder why my acting was so stiff, I was maintaining my usual airs when I should be taking on another persona. This was the one place where I could let all of that go, the one place where I would benefit more from being a little less prim and proper.
I went all day Monday subtly practicing a few breathing techniques and learned more how to remove my muscles from the mental framework that held them in one place. That night we went over those scenes again and I delivered the entirety of the speech with no interruption.
“I see a vast difference from last time,” Colin said. “Keep practicing those relaxation techniques.”
I did take his advice to heart, but not only for acting. I found myself taking a few more moments alone in quiet contemplation, I even took my violin out again. I endeavored to look at my time at the office and my time spent with the rest of the rich bastards with less seriousness. This time my stiff propriety was becoming more my mask to my betterment. After a while I noticed I was content with a few glasses of wine on occasion and didn’t feel the urge to numb myself. This thought alone was sobering for its own merits; the need for escape was not as strong. I found a pleasant balance switching out both my masks, not feeling I was betraying one for the other.
As the last days of October came upon us, rehearsals were more intense. There was one instance where Colin scheduled rehearsal for a Friday night, it was supposed to be the beginning of my big scene with Tybalt and Benvolio. That Wednesday Jacob said we had received a last minute invitation to a small gathering held by the Duke of Kent; attendance was nonnegotiable and I knew it. I approached Colin at the start of rehearsal on Thursday and told him, face hot with embarrassment, that I would be unable to attend Friday. My boss told me we needed to attend a business dinner held by the owner of the company and be briefed on new procedures, I told him. Colin nodded, pulled aside Benvolio and Tybalt, and the four of us negotiated another time over the weekend to meet to begin the scene. Just like that the matter was settled agreeably.
“Everything is manageable, Mr. Morris,” Colin said, clapping me on the back. “Everything.”
Friday I put on my absolute best clothes for the grand banquet with His Grace the Duke of Kent. Sunday afternoon I put on some rougher clothes and met with Colin and the other two actors for an hour or so to begin the big scene. Everything was indeed manageable.
Colin set aside one evening solely for theatrical swordsmanship. I had done a little fencing in school and understood the basic terms and techniques. This time every move was mapped out, every parry and thrust going with a specific line. It added to the acting a bit more. Granted it was difficult to keep up with lines and parries at the same time, though I found it made the dialogue that much more dramatic. Tybalt, or George, was a bit rough with his foil and was told a few times to not swing down so hard. He accidentally poked my arm and immediately drew back with ample apologies, we both had a bit of a laugh on this.
A few days before All Saints Day, Jacob told me he was going to be throwing a party for me on my birthday. I expected this, though truthfully in the midst of everything I almost forgot my birthday was but a week away. He wanted to throw a nice celebration for me, though he wanted to do something much grander for my 18th birthday next year. Regardless he had a whole guest list of our mutual acquaintances and asked me what I wanted served, what music to have. I just threw a few suggestions; this was his concept and I wanted little part of it.
Last year I spent my 16th birthday watching a horrible production of “As You Like It” and would go later to a pub, get smashed, and share toasts with the worst people I had ever met. And now I would spend my 17th birthday in the same stuffy townhouse I was holed up in for two months surrounded by people I didn’t know and didn’t like and paraded around once again like a ruddy mannequin to gain more attention for my brother. Though did the day have to be that bad?
We started sorting out the next week’s rehearsal schedules. I told Colin the next Wednesday would be no good for me; I was a captive audience for my family on my birthday. The round happy words and gentle laughs made me smile more than a little.
“What time will you get done with your family, we should all meet up at the pub later and give you a toast,” George said, ironic since a few minutes back he was poking me in the side with a foil for Mercutio’s grand death scene.
Jacob’s parties never went past 9, I told them 10 and we were all agreeable to meet up at our usual haunt. Jacob indeed scheduled the party for 6, he told me it would indeed be a modest affair since it was the middle of the week and we all had early mornings. He told me that following Monday to take Wednesday off with pay; consider it a present.
I stayed up past midnight Tuesday night and cracked open the bottle of pinot noir Pierre had given me. At the stroke of midnight I toasted to my 17th year on this earth.
“Enjoy what little time you have to the fullest, Mr. Sutcliff,” I said quietly to myself with a smirk, gazing into the bright red liquid in my glass; the words of the mysterious Arthur sounding a bit amusing now. “After all, we’re only here a short while.”
I slept in for the better part of the day, then did a little riding, went window shopping and bought myself a few gifts. My eye caught on a few lovely dresses in a few windows, admiring the subtle English ruffles and more modest colors than the dresses I saw in Paris. I allowed myself these extra looks, humored my fancy a bit even though this line of thinking was loony even for me. I would pull myself away shaking my head, just wondering what the hell I was thinking.
It was a most relaxing day, unfortunately it ended the first moment I dressed and readied myself for Jacob’s party in my name. I put on a nice black coat and a cravat with lace ruffles. It was attire more appropriate for a funeral perhaps though why did there need to be a difference: I would be on display like a corpse anyway. I just needed to remember at 10 I was going to a much grander party.
Simon picked me up with the carriage as usual, this time taking me to Jacob’s townhouse. Jacob greeted me at the door and gave me a clap on the back with a few kind words. The guests started to arrive half an hour later; most of them business associates and acquaintances. This was more a gathering for Jacob’s friends; I really didn’t have any friends in these circles, did I? There were a lot of bows, a lot of pats on the back. There were quite a few small packages, that I did enjoy: books, brooches, a few household things like fine cups and silver spoons. I received a few stock shares that would certainly come in handy. It was the modest affair I wished for. I went light on the wine, saving some room for later on.
As predicted the guests started filing out around 8:30 and were completely gone by 9. I bid Jacob a polite good evening. He simply gave me a bow with one last “Happy birthday, brother.” I collected my gifts and rode home. The moment I got in my apartment, the gifts went on a table and I was changing into my simpler clothes. Around 9:30 I rode for our usual pub.
A cheer went up in the room as I entered. All my fellows from the theater were there raising a glass to me. I got a pint of cider and joined the real party. There was a lot of talking, a lot of singing, there was a lot of general advice about appreciating youth that I actually found sincere. I kept myself to a few pints and simply appreciated the company, I felt I got to know my fellows a bit more that night.
Colin raised one last toast at the end of the evening:
“To Richard Morris on his 17th birthday, may there be many more and may his years all be joyful.”
Interesting how a toast to my fake name was meant more to me than my real one. Interesting how my real life had a fake name whilst my real name was plastered on a lie. “What’s in a name” as Juliet herself said.
I raised my glass with me fellows, feeling truly appreciated by someone for once.
Chapter: 19
First
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Summary: A pampered young nobleman's path to becoming a notorious murderer whose ultimate destiny lies in forces beyond human understanding: the story of Grell Sutcliff.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Grell
Word Count: 4,716
Warnings: Some mild language.
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji and recognizable characters belong to Yana Toboso.
Bloody Red Doll
Part 19
The dream of Paris was over, leaving me to wake up on Monday in my usual bed waiting for the usual carriage like nothing ever happened. All I had from the past two weeks were memories and a few souvenirs…and a few headaches caused by my big mouth and Jacob’s little trap.
I hadn’t spoken to Jacob all weekend and was downright dreading Monday morning when I would be his captive audience in the carriage. This would be his ideal time to press for a bit more information. I readied myself for my day whilst mentally preparing for whatever questions he might throw me, though I knew throwing questions would be a bit too obvious for him.
Deep down I knew there would be no mention of my “business discussions” with Comte de Marteille, he might mention the comte in passing and ask for a few more innocuous details from Paris. Jacob was not one for confrontation unless all of the cards were his hand and he was in a position to throw them at you. All he had now were a few interpretations of my ramblings, though I was sure he would be looking to build more of a case even for his own purposes.
He could have asked me about my visits to see how many lies I could generate, however this would only lead to a direct confrontation. Jacob was not going into any battle until his armory was stocked and ready to obliterate his target. Though what interest would he take in this matter? Would he treat this as a trifle or was this an issue of mortal importance? Who I spent intimate company with would be the trifle, the mortal matter was how much my actions could be exposed and destroy our family’s reputation.
That was all that mattered to Jacob in the end; keeping his vast wealth and reputation; his holy writs were greed and prestige. Any actions by a younger member of the family that could jeopardize all of this were the graver concern, not necessarily what the actions were in the first place. This was especially true for a younger family member he had taken pains to set up and parade around to garner his own esteem. Such an arrangement could attract more esteem for Jacob, but a scandal of this magnitude could ruin him and everything he built.
I doubted, however, that Jacob would put such a social investment in me without understanding all of his risks. The fact he knew much about my rudeness on the younger students at school was only a small portion of what I was aware of, I was sure he had many ways of keeping an eye on all my dealings. Naturally many of my associates acquaintances were his associates and acquaintances and all he needed to do was ask a few casual questions.
I had done nothing that needed hiding since I arrived in London, however would anyone with any ties to King’s Crest start flapping their lips to a supposedly safe individual? I doubted the little bastards themselves would say anything, they would expose themselves just as easily as they would expose me to Jacob. Though someone’s relative or another student or staff member might voice their suspicions. Most King’s Crest students were members of the gentry and their families intermingled constantly. Given Jacob’s vast network of associates, I doubted Earl Phantomhive was the only parent with which Jacob kept regular contact and conversation about my manners and business.
I pushed my paranoia and discomfort aside to greet the carriage that morning and climb in across from my brother. He greeted me with his usual smile and a couple words about “back to the home perch.” I acted casual and tried my best to relax, though stay on my guard. As predicted, there was little talk of the comte other than generic references to our business deal; even I was not picking up any jabs from this. I allowed myself to relax a bit, waiting for that mention at last. We arrived at the office with nothing but the usual polite conversation.
That was it, nary a mention of my visitations, no concerns or suspicions, nothing. The issue seemed nonexistent. Perhaps it was all in my head, perhaps he never suspected a thing. As tempted as I was to think this issue was done, I knew I couldn’t be that stupid even if he was. This conversation just showed his intention to keep everything behind my back.
I cleared the hurdle with Jacob for now, but had to confront the reality of being back to the office. I fully woke from the blissful dream of Paris to the hazy, aching morning of this usual stuffy place and the usual stuffy routine. The dream was over and reality was staring me in the face though I walked around in a tired state with the bittersweet haze of the memory. It just made moving around in my own dull reality that much harder. Quite a few people commented on how hard it must have been to return to the march after such an exhausting journey. By the afternoon I resisted the temptation to smash a few faces in.
I was happy when 5 o’clock came by again, this time more tolerant of the ride with Jacob. Still not a word of any suspicions passed across his lips. I considered it a done matter on the surface though knew I would have to watch my back much more carefully. I stayed home that night and read more lines. I had most of Mercutio’s “Queen Mab” monologue memorized by that point, but it was much more fun rehearsing it between swigs of whisky. Mercutio was a colorful enough character to sound maddeningly happy as he is speaking of love and dreams to Romeo.
I rehearsed my movements and delivery in front of a large mirror and was so amused with how lively I looked, how free. The grand performer up on stage, it was as if my adoring audience was right in front of me. I forgot how many glasses I had at that point. I did remember thinking I would look like so much more of an ethereal actress if I actually had a pretty dress; these trousers and this plain white shirt looked so terribly dull. The thought came to me about that gorgeous red dress I passed by in Paris; I longed to put it on, but alas I passed by it. Why did I do that? It was such a lovely dress and it would have made me look oh so pretty. That sent me crashing on my bed in a fit of weeping.
I would wake to the first light of morning lying half off my bed, fully clothed, head pounding as usual. My eyes stung with old tears; at first I wondered how the hell they got there. The only recollection I had curled me further into a ball. I would be mentally laughing about it during the rest of the day as my headache subsided; an interesting mental distraction from the drudgery of the day.
Through the dark clouds that was my return to London, a little sunlight shone through; my actor friends wished for me to come to the theater and officially read for “Romeo and Juliet” the next Wednesday night. Rehearsals for their previous play were winding down and it was a few days before their performance, the perfect time to test some new talent. I worked a bit more on my form throughout the week, this time watching myself with the liquor and taking this seriously. I prepared Mercutio, but I was ready to get any little part they threw at me. If they wanted me to only play the Apothecary, I would gleefully play the Apothecary. This was after all the first time I had ever taken the stage. I had acted enough in my tender years, this was the first time I did so for sport and not survival.
Wednesday couldn’t come fast enough. I waded through work and a few insipid parties practically counting down the days. At last I came home on Wednesday, put on some plain clothes, and rode to Mersey Hall. The company was milling around when I got there, all of them greeting me with smiles and slaps on the back. They allowed me a few minutes to mentally prepare myself and watch the existing members do preliminary readings. This circle of recitation made me think more of a literary chat group than hard auditions.
There were two other newcomers there, one of which was Colin’s elderly aunt who Colin apparently talked into trying out. The cast’s Romeo, a handsome if not plain fellow in his 20s, introduced his even plainer flatmate as a potential candidate. This was a small theater and not Drury Lane, I was rather amused by this close-knit little group.
At last I took the stage. My heart pounded, my skin wet from sweat, but the closer I got to that stage the giddier I was. I allowed myself a second to gather my bearings and launched into my monologue. After a few seconds I felt as if I had been doing this my whole life; all of those hours acting to the animals or to the servants culminated from play to this one reality. I allowed myself a look down from the stage and saw nothing but smiling faces with eyes fixed right on me. These were genuine smiles and not wooden masks of interest. This just prompted me further. I was only going to do half the monologue, but I went further to finish the speech.
I finished to a round of applause and cheers.
“I believe we have our Mercutio,” Colin said.
My jaw dropped and I went numb for a moment before my mouth curved into one of the widest grins I ever had, so wide my face hurt but it was a wonderful feeling. I wanted to leap from the stage and embrace him, instead I gave a few clumsy bows.
In the end Colin’s Aunt Roberta was cast as the Nurse. The other new boy Ephraim was cast as Benvolio after a reading that was surprisingly rich for his seemingly dull manner. Colin played Lord Capulet, he would also be playing the Apothecary. The role of Paris was taken by an actor who would be mostly managing backstage duties, but would go onstage for this small role. A few actors took on a few small roles each. It was an efficient arrangement; laughably simple, but efficient.
Rehearsal schedules would be decided on a weekly basis depending on everyone’s schedules. We would receive 3 shillings a week per rehearsal and 1 crown a night per performance. Roberta and Ephraim seemed rather delighted to be getting this much. This was not elation that came with having all one’s financial woes solved, this was pleasant delight to have something extra. I had more than a few month’s worth of this pay stuck in my pocket threads; interesting how so little meant so much to these people.
Copies of the script were distributed to the cast, it was going to be so much nicer reading from this than the little book I had been paging through for weeks. This felt so much more official; I was going home with a script for a play in which I had been cast. There was no run to the pub that night, everyone said they had an early day and I decided it would be best to attempt some more sleep as well. The first rehearsal would take place next Tuesday evening, a safe night for me as most of the soirees were taking place on the weekend with the season over.
I hit that script hard over the next week, taking it up the second I got out of work. I would be rehearsing my lines in the same mirror though not with the same glass and bottle at the ready. This was serious business to me and I would take it as such. I would go to work and do my usual routine, all the while running my lines through my head and counting down the days until Tuesday. I did take the habit of putting the script in a bureau drawer when I was done with it. I always had this odd suspicion that someone could suddenly appear on my doorstep or be let into my house by the landlord and see the script sitting on a table.
The thought of this getting out to any member of my family was horrifying, I knew what the reactions would be. Matthew and Jacob would have a few pleasant words about getting distracted from the family’s work, or more likely chastise me for soiling myself and my reputation with such low class company. This was no work for a proper, self-respecting young nobleman with a reputation to uphold. All it would take was for one worker or one off-duty servant to leak word of seeing me on stage to his or her master to sully my name, that was likely what they would say.
I put little worry into any word getting out. This wasn’t the type of theater that received any patronage from the aristocracy; this was strictly the haven of the working slobs as audience and actors. Those who frequented our circles would not even set a toe in this area let along go into a theater. I doubted few servants even looked at me to recognize me. Even if they did, servants didn’t gossip to their bosses unless paid to and this was matter was too silly to have any weight. The lads in our office, quite frankly, seemed too simple to enjoy Shakespeare.
I was mildly curious how my new fellows would react to my actual station if they ever found out. There would probably be a lot of “sir” and “my lord” or a lot of arse kissing for money or entry into my circles. I could see Colin making me his new best friend and subtly milking me for patrons. There could also be sideways glares and comments about how I was mocking their endeavor by being here. This was an establishment for the common man, they would sneer, and I had to have been looking down my nose at their work.
It was best then if neither side knew the other, if I kept my respective masks on tight. It was an interesting masquerade indeed, an intriguing one. Even in the same city, I could establish a whole different identity and a whole different set of affairs completely unknown to all my different circles. It was a thrilling thought.
Our first rehearsal was the next Tuesday at 7:30, I had most everything memorized and felt a bit more comfortable to leap into it. The first rehearsal was mostly a group reading, everyone reading their respective parts and starting the initial cues. It took me a few minutes to understand the flow of delivering dialogue with another person. I was corrected on a few things, but I endeavored to absorb everything as part of the learning experience. The week’s schedule was favorable to all for a more formal rehearsal the next evening. This rehearsal mostly involved Juliet, Lady Capulet, and the Nurse with some work by Romeo and Benvolio. Aunt Roberta left a bit to be desired, her voice reminded me of a cat being skinned. I was most impressed with our Benvolio’s delivery, he was a bit less stiff than he came across offstage.
Colin wanted me to stick around mostly to see how rehearsals were done. He said it would be unlikely we would get to my part tonight, though I should see what the process entailed. I took mental notes the whole time. Juliet was a lovely girl named Jane and gave a natural delivery; Romeo, or Sam, was decent but a bit too melodramatic. I was learning much simply by seeing what I disliked.
There would be another rehearsal Friday evening and then I would have my first opportunity to act with others. I had read this play so many times even before this, giving me a decent idea of Mercutio’s mannerisms and personality. I went onstage with Romeo and Benvolio, listening for the right moments and giving my own lines. It felt like entering a conversation, only in this case every single word was scripted out instead of the sentiment. Colin would give instructions from the floor as to some movements and positions, sometimes he would stop us for recommendations on address. He called me out a few times for having too much of my back to the audience and I soon learned to watch that.
It was near the end of rehearsal when I did the monologue in a more formal way. Colin gave me different cues for my delivery. I lost my lines at one point, feeling the heat of embarrassment only to be relieved by a pleasant call-out by Colin and some good-natured smiles. It was to be expected perhaps. At the end of the speech, Colin stopped the action and got in front of the stage.
“Richard, your delivery so far is impeccable,” he said. “Though you sound a bit stiff, a bit hesitant. You need to plow forward without hesitation, without question. Mercutio is a colorful bloke, you’re nigh there but you need to get as unabashed as he is.”
Colin delivered a few lines of the speech, instructing me on how to loosen myself a bit and I mimicked him exactly, getting the full breadth of his instruction. By the end of rehearsal he told me I was already making improvements and recommended that I practice a few relaxation techniques on a regular basis; deep breathing and light meditation worked wonders. I thanked him for his advice and looked forward to the next rehearsal on Monday.
Colin’s words haunted me all weekend, they floated through my mind on regular intervals like a white fog. I wasn’t reading them as harsh criticism nor was I seeing them as an ill reflection of my acting. They struck me in a more general sense I could not put my finger on. When the weekend was over, after a few teas with Jacob bantering about Earl Phantomhive’s business plans, after a few gatherings of gentlemen discussing how many horses they would invest in this year, after listening to this whilst nodding my head and adding a few contributing words I believe I had my answer.
They called me “the Mad Ginger” at school at the time when I wanted nothing more than to take a long piss on all formalities and politeness. Now my entire existence was formalities and politeness, though had it all been such a change? No wonder why my acting was so stiff, I was maintaining my usual airs when I should be taking on another persona. This was the one place where I could let all of that go, the one place where I would benefit more from being a little less prim and proper.
I went all day Monday subtly practicing a few breathing techniques and learned more how to remove my muscles from the mental framework that held them in one place. That night we went over those scenes again and I delivered the entirety of the speech with no interruption.
“I see a vast difference from last time,” Colin said. “Keep practicing those relaxation techniques.”
I did take his advice to heart, but not only for acting. I found myself taking a few more moments alone in quiet contemplation, I even took my violin out again. I endeavored to look at my time at the office and my time spent with the rest of the rich bastards with less seriousness. This time my stiff propriety was becoming more my mask to my betterment. After a while I noticed I was content with a few glasses of wine on occasion and didn’t feel the urge to numb myself. This thought alone was sobering for its own merits; the need for escape was not as strong. I found a pleasant balance switching out both my masks, not feeling I was betraying one for the other.
As the last days of October came upon us, rehearsals were more intense. There was one instance where Colin scheduled rehearsal for a Friday night, it was supposed to be the beginning of my big scene with Tybalt and Benvolio. That Wednesday Jacob said we had received a last minute invitation to a small gathering held by the Duke of Kent; attendance was nonnegotiable and I knew it. I approached Colin at the start of rehearsal on Thursday and told him, face hot with embarrassment, that I would be unable to attend Friday. My boss told me we needed to attend a business dinner held by the owner of the company and be briefed on new procedures, I told him. Colin nodded, pulled aside Benvolio and Tybalt, and the four of us negotiated another time over the weekend to meet to begin the scene. Just like that the matter was settled agreeably.
“Everything is manageable, Mr. Morris,” Colin said, clapping me on the back. “Everything.”
Friday I put on my absolute best clothes for the grand banquet with His Grace the Duke of Kent. Sunday afternoon I put on some rougher clothes and met with Colin and the other two actors for an hour or so to begin the big scene. Everything was indeed manageable.
Colin set aside one evening solely for theatrical swordsmanship. I had done a little fencing in school and understood the basic terms and techniques. This time every move was mapped out, every parry and thrust going with a specific line. It added to the acting a bit more. Granted it was difficult to keep up with lines and parries at the same time, though I found it made the dialogue that much more dramatic. Tybalt, or George, was a bit rough with his foil and was told a few times to not swing down so hard. He accidentally poked my arm and immediately drew back with ample apologies, we both had a bit of a laugh on this.
A few days before All Saints Day, Jacob told me he was going to be throwing a party for me on my birthday. I expected this, though truthfully in the midst of everything I almost forgot my birthday was but a week away. He wanted to throw a nice celebration for me, though he wanted to do something much grander for my 18th birthday next year. Regardless he had a whole guest list of our mutual acquaintances and asked me what I wanted served, what music to have. I just threw a few suggestions; this was his concept and I wanted little part of it.
Last year I spent my 16th birthday watching a horrible production of “As You Like It” and would go later to a pub, get smashed, and share toasts with the worst people I had ever met. And now I would spend my 17th birthday in the same stuffy townhouse I was holed up in for two months surrounded by people I didn’t know and didn’t like and paraded around once again like a ruddy mannequin to gain more attention for my brother. Though did the day have to be that bad?
We started sorting out the next week’s rehearsal schedules. I told Colin the next Wednesday would be no good for me; I was a captive audience for my family on my birthday. The round happy words and gentle laughs made me smile more than a little.
“What time will you get done with your family, we should all meet up at the pub later and give you a toast,” George said, ironic since a few minutes back he was poking me in the side with a foil for Mercutio’s grand death scene.
Jacob’s parties never went past 9, I told them 10 and we were all agreeable to meet up at our usual haunt. Jacob indeed scheduled the party for 6, he told me it would indeed be a modest affair since it was the middle of the week and we all had early mornings. He told me that following Monday to take Wednesday off with pay; consider it a present.
I stayed up past midnight Tuesday night and cracked open the bottle of pinot noir Pierre had given me. At the stroke of midnight I toasted to my 17th year on this earth.
“Enjoy what little time you have to the fullest, Mr. Sutcliff,” I said quietly to myself with a smirk, gazing into the bright red liquid in my glass; the words of the mysterious Arthur sounding a bit amusing now. “After all, we’re only here a short while.”
I slept in for the better part of the day, then did a little riding, went window shopping and bought myself a few gifts. My eye caught on a few lovely dresses in a few windows, admiring the subtle English ruffles and more modest colors than the dresses I saw in Paris. I allowed myself these extra looks, humored my fancy a bit even though this line of thinking was loony even for me. I would pull myself away shaking my head, just wondering what the hell I was thinking.
It was a most relaxing day, unfortunately it ended the first moment I dressed and readied myself for Jacob’s party in my name. I put on a nice black coat and a cravat with lace ruffles. It was attire more appropriate for a funeral perhaps though why did there need to be a difference: I would be on display like a corpse anyway. I just needed to remember at 10 I was going to a much grander party.
Simon picked me up with the carriage as usual, this time taking me to Jacob’s townhouse. Jacob greeted me at the door and gave me a clap on the back with a few kind words. The guests started to arrive half an hour later; most of them business associates and acquaintances. This was more a gathering for Jacob’s friends; I really didn’t have any friends in these circles, did I? There were a lot of bows, a lot of pats on the back. There were quite a few small packages, that I did enjoy: books, brooches, a few household things like fine cups and silver spoons. I received a few stock shares that would certainly come in handy. It was the modest affair I wished for. I went light on the wine, saving some room for later on.
As predicted the guests started filing out around 8:30 and were completely gone by 9. I bid Jacob a polite good evening. He simply gave me a bow with one last “Happy birthday, brother.” I collected my gifts and rode home. The moment I got in my apartment, the gifts went on a table and I was changing into my simpler clothes. Around 9:30 I rode for our usual pub.
A cheer went up in the room as I entered. All my fellows from the theater were there raising a glass to me. I got a pint of cider and joined the real party. There was a lot of talking, a lot of singing, there was a lot of general advice about appreciating youth that I actually found sincere. I kept myself to a few pints and simply appreciated the company, I felt I got to know my fellows a bit more that night.
Colin raised one last toast at the end of the evening:
“To Richard Morris on his 17th birthday, may there be many more and may his years all be joyful.”
Interesting how a toast to my fake name was meant more to me than my real one. Interesting how my real life had a fake name whilst my real name was plastered on a lie. “What’s in a name” as Juliet herself said.
I raised my glass with me fellows, feeling truly appreciated by someone for once.