Bloody Red Doll, Part 20
Title: Bloody Red Doll
Chapter: 20
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: 4,832
Warnings: Language and some off-color references
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji and recognizable characters belong to Yana Toboso.
Bloody Red Doll
Part 20
The first dress rehearsals were scheduled to begin in mid November. Our main backstage marm Georgia took our basic measurements for costumes. This was not done for their construction, rather to see what garment hanging from the theater’s collective wardrobe fit the best on us. The theater had a whole collection of appropriate clothes that had been added to and altered repeatedly over the past few years. All of them were sorted by style and size in a closet and we were given a few outfits to try out.
All of the garments smelled like old wood and paint and had a stiff feel to them. I saw this as another example of how simple and quaint this whole operation was, ignoring the mild feeling of disgust it gave me. The choicest costume for me was a blue tunic with puffy sleeves and simple embroidering around the neckline accompanied by similarly puffy black trousers and thick white stockings. Georgia also gave me a nice leather belt for the tunic to tighten the material around my waist so it didn’t hang to my calves, though nothing could be done about the billowing trouser legs. It was all in the name of theater; this was merely a costume and not something I would ever wear out in polite society.
Colin made the suggestion that I keep my hair down; it would certainly make Mercutio appear more young and dashing. I was most agreeable to this, I rarely had the opportunity to go about with my hair flowing free. It felt most liberating to leave my lovely locks in their natural state and not choked off by a ponytail.
As rehearsals continued, Georgia did make-up tests on us. Before now I had never had the desire to powder my face at all. Men of my station who did that tended to be rather shallow and pompous. I just needed to think about those stark white faces in Paris with the overuse of rouge and that was enough to dissuade me. This was, however, the theater and I was agreeable at this one time.
The texture was off-putting at first, though Georgia put it on lightly and not in such a way to make me look like some kind of porcelain doll. It seemed to bring out my features, cover up a bit of that lingering shadow that all men have and no amount of shaving can fully clear. I found I looked quite…lovely? No, that couldn’t be the word, but perhaps it was. She lightly lined my eyes with charcoal, it brought out the blue color a bit. I found I was quite pleased with what I saw, perhaps this was something I could get used to.
At last all the pieces were in place for our last dress rehearsals. I would walk onstage and take my cues imagining a theater full of people watching my every move. Hopefully it would better prepare me for that first glorious moment on stage in front of an audience at last. My lines had sunk deep into my brain, I knew the blocking by heart though I still kept my muscles loose. The more run-throughs we did, the readier I became.
The first night of the play was the 21 of November. The schedule would become more regular from here on, the play running Thursday through Sunday nights. We were told should a conflict arise, it was not an issue as all the backstage crew knew everyone’s role by heart and were prepared to step in at a moment’s notice. Just let Colin know and something can be arranged. The thought of losing an opportunity to Jacob’s social schedule, however, was more than a little frightening. Fortunately the social calendar was becoming sparser and sparser the more we got into November. It would pick back up again around Christmas, though I still had another month to concern myself about that. Jacob had nothing planned for the immediate future and no one seemed to care that I was supposedly spending more time to myself. Naturally I thought up a hundred different explanations and excuses for why I wasn’t being as social, though the subject never came up.
I counted down the days until taking the stage for the first time. I expected that week to be torturous with anticipation, instead it was a pleasant distraction. This lowly office worker surrounded by all these noble idiots would be a stage star in just a matter of days. We had one more rehearsal on Wednesday to prepare for the opening on Thursday. I tried more to imagine the house packed with admirers. In truth I had no idea how I would feel standing on stage in front of this many people.
We were told to arrive by 6 o’clock in the evening on Thursday to get our make-up and costumes on. The curtain would rise at 7:30. That day at work was torturous, I found my nerves catching up with me though I tried every attempt I could to relax. I kept calm for the carriage ride back to the apartment, Jacob was idly talking about some new accounts. I was infinitely glad no mention was made of any sudden gatherings or meetings. I went home per usual, allowed myself a small glass of wine, and got on my rougher clothes for the night.
I arrived at the theater at 6 on the dot to find the others casually getting into their respective characters. My costume went on, Georgia applied my make-up, and I ran my lines through my head to get them absolutely perfect. Colin came out with a giddy smile and said we had a packed house. My heart started pounding and I felt a bit of sweat build on my back. I actually realized I was terrified; I had never done this for more than a few people in a rehearsal environment, now there had to have been nearly a hundred people outside those doors waiting for a perfect performance.
“I know it sounds like a lot of people, but you’ll love every minute of it,” Colin said. He must have seen my reaction. “They’ll become part of the performance. What I wouldn’t give to be back in your shoes now, Mr. Morris.”
I could only smile at this; I was indeed walking into one of the greatest moments of my life.
All of us gathered round behind the stage, rehearsing a few difficult lines and doing a last minute polish on our sword moves. Colin gathered us around him.
“You all are amazing actors, go out there and show everyone what you can do,” he said.
At last the clock read 7:30. The Chorus stepped out on stage and all of us heard a collective cheer to mark the beginning of the play. The Montague’s and Capulet’s came out next and their dialogue provided a nice distraction from my nerves. All of them were quite good. Our Benvolio approached the back entrance with the same nervous look I was wearing. We simply looked at each other and smiled in sympathy. His cue came and I gave him a light slap on the back as he went out. He immediately went into his lines with a strong tone like he was Benvolio approaching Tybalt. If he could be that good, what did I have to worry about?
I was rapt in the performances I head from behind the set. Ephraim was a magnificent Benvolio indeed. I was happy Sam toned down some of his melodrama for Romeo, though it still came about on occasion. Colin was perfection as Capulet, though he had decades to practice his art. I found Juliet a little too breathy for my liking even still. Aunt Roberta’s screeching delivery as the Nurse gave me a headache, though it was a role that did not require much charm.
At last Sam, Ephraim, and I gathered for the next scene. My heart pounded a bit more.
“Scared?” Sam said with a good-natured smile.
“Terrified,” I said with a grin.
“We all start out as virgins,” he said with a wink. “Happy first time.”
I snickered at the comment. The closer it came to our scene, the more the sweat ran down my back. I was completely petrified, I couldn’t even take a few steps forward for my muscles felt glued in place. This couldn’t be happening; this was the moment I had waited for my entire life and I was going to botch it in front of all those people. To consider Sam’s words, however, at least I was sober enough to enjoy this horrifying mess as opposed to my first time in bed with someone. At least this time it was consensual.
At last it was our time out. We all gave each other hearty slaps on the shoulder and walked out the door. My legs were moving on their own volition though I was numb to everything else. I decided if I messed this up, I would do so grandly. I walked out and took one peripheral glance at the audience. I saw men and women, a few children with them. All of the staring upwards, all of them clapping as we entered. I realized I was now standing in front of a theater full of people; all here to see us, all here to see me take the stage.
I felt I had missed this place all my life, that I had been exiled from this utopia and was returning to it a conquering hero. I was made for this moment. I took my usual place around Romeo and Benvolio. Their dialogue was like an everyday conversation to me as it was the first time I ever rehearsed with these gents. After all every dialogue I had ever had with anyone in my life had been scripted, all my lines rehearsed, all my movements carefully blocked. This time it was in a place where I felt truly at home. Every other time had been for show, this felt truly real. At last my time came.
“Give me a torch,” Romeo said. “I am not for this ambling being but heavy. I will bear the light.”
This was it.
“Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance,” the lines were so natural to me by now.
“Not I, believe me,” Sam continued. “You have dancing shoes with nimble soles: I have a soul of lead so stakes me to the ground I cannot move.”
“You are a lover: Borrow Cupid’s wings and soar with them above common bound,” I was perfectly relaxed now, I was Mercutio in this moment.
I was having a conversation, but one far more pleasant. No, I was not Mercutio; nor was I Grell Sutcliff, nor could I consider myself Richard Morris. I was me pure and simple; I needed no character name, I needed no role, I just needed to be. I was where I needed to be now; talking about dreams with a fellow pretender.
I went into the Queen Mab monologue as if I was predestined to give this passionate speech, like I knew all these fairy creatures I spoke of. I took my steps away from Romeo and took a good look at the audience. All eyes were on me: I saw smiles, mouths slightly open, the occasional chit chat between people though I was given the floor. This spurred me on further. My fists were in the air for my last lines of the monologue, yelling “This is she!”
At last I felt strong arms on me shoulders pulling me around, Sam’s face in mine. The crowd roared with applause, I was the man of the moment.
“Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!” Romeo said. I felt as Mercutio did, pulled back to earth after soaring through the air. “Thou talkst of nothing.”
“True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy…”
I was amazed at how I could bring myself down so easily and continue with the rest of the peaceful dialogue. At last we were leaving the stage with Romeo’s call of “On, lusty gentlemen.”
We ran from the stage to thundering claps and shouts. Blood coursed through my veins and I felt I could take on the world. Colin stood beside the stage and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me into a loose embrace.
“You were brilliant, Rich, beyond brilliant,” he said.
I could only nod with a few breathy words of thanks. No one had ever recognized me with such sincerity before. Nothing I had ever done warranted such legitimate words of praise. I felt I could melt, instead I waited for the Servingmen to leave the stage to go back on with the rest with my mask on. Every moment from then on was a new experience, I savored every single second on that stage in front of all those people. When I was not in the scene, I gleefully watched this all unfold from backstage. I had seen several versions of this play and read it so many times I knew every part by heart. Here I was making a production of it, here I was involved in a grand creation.
I was on fire when I took the stage for what would lead to Mercutio’s death scene. This was the moment I had to remember all of the sword moves and not let my lines get tripped up. I had my sword in my hand at the right moment after Tybalt’s taunts and I knew it was only a natural course from here. George must have practiced a bit more for he did not jab me once during the whole exchange. Romeo nearly tripped over me for the part where Mercutio was stabbed, though he kept his footing. George actually passed his rapier under my arm and brushed it against my side as he was supposed to instead of jabbing me as he usually did.
This would be my grandest moment in the play. I nigh convinced myself I had taken a fatal wound with the Reaper looming over me though I tried to remain flippant to the end. I was particularly proud of how I delivered the line “A plague o’ both your houses.” In the corner of my eye I could see ladies covering their mouths and men gazing at me with wide eyes. At last I was dragged off the stage by Benvolio, only taking a healthy step until I was sure I was out of view. I received a round of applause from the rest of the company when I returned backstage. I poured myself a glass of wine on a side table and enjoyed the rest of the show.
At last Romeo swallowed his poison, Juliet stabbed herself, and the Prince gave his final lines. The company broke from the stage to thunderous applause. After a few seconds, the more minor characters went up for their curtain call, then it was my turn. I stepped out onstage like a giddy prince and was embraced by a whoosh of exuberant claps and cheers. I looked out at every smiling face and clapping hand and felt I was truly home. Our Romeo and Juliet later came out to their roar of applause and we all joined hands for the last bow. The cheers and claps still floated through the air as we left the stage and died down like a passing storm.
All of us embraced backstage, there were numerous pats on the back and bows for respective jobs well done. Ephraim and I shared a tight embrace; we had just gotten though our first stage experience together. Eventually all make-up was cleaned off, costumes put back, and our mundane clothes replaced. We went to the pub and shared many toasts for a prosperous opening night. I truly felt I belonged with these fine people now. I was not merely on the outside looking in; my experience was theirs, I was a part of them now.
It almost pained me to leave for home, though I knew all of my other friends were returning to their own mundane existences as well. This was simply a life we shared.
“Glad to have you with us, Rich,” Colin said as I was leaving. “You’re an amazing actor already and you’ll only get better.”
I felt truly touched.
“Much appreciated, thank you for the opportunity,” I said.
I returned to my usual apartment to get ready for the usual next day at work, though I didn’t feel like my usual self. I felt I was part of something greater. I woke the next morning feeling a small twinge of panic; what if someone at the office had seen me last night? What if one of our associates said something to Jacob? I brushed off the thought; if Jacob confronted me on it, I would tell him right away. That wouldn’t change my involvement with Mersey Hall, nothing Jacob could do or say would stop me from returning.
There was some amount of mental preparation going into the carriage and waiting for Jacob to say something. The circumstances were not as dire as after our initial talk about Comte de Marteille, though no less unnerving. When we left, Jacob immediately went into a tirade about a labor dispute among shipmen that could delay the transport of some important materials. That was the only thing on his mind that morning, I merely followed along with a few pithy words. There was nary a mention of it at the office and the day proceeded as normal.
It freed my mind so I could concentrate on the second night of performances. I went home per usual and almost immediately got my rougher clothes on. After waiting to make sure the coast was clear, I went back to the theater for the second night. I was ready to do this again, I desired it. The other night was a trial run, now I was ready to take all my experience and do magnificent things. Colin was right, I was still very green and could only improve with experience.
Everything from slipping on my costume on to having make-up applied to hearing the audience file in gave me goose bumps. I was truly happy with every little part of this. A part of me was scared I would botch the second night after doing so well the first. I tried not to worry about it, only vowing to do what I knew I did best.
The first moment the Chorus came on stage I knew this would be excellent. I stepped out for my opening scene with nothing but confidence, the Queen Mab speech like a natural conversation. I was rewarded again with thunderous applause for my efforts. I could see subtle improvements in my costars too. Roberta was toning down her voice, Jane was putting a bit more passion into Juliet, and Sam was becoming a bit more natural as Romeo.
I nearly dropped my sword at the beginning of the fight scene with Tybalt; my face flushed for a moment, but I realized it was truly a trifle. I made like I was doing a casual move with it and continued as usual. My death scene was a bit more comfortable to me now, though I learned to insert the right amount of drama. I left the stage again a conquering hero and returned to my adoring audience at curtain call.
Everyone scattered to their respective homes after the performance, this time my home felt a little sweeter. The next day I went through work as usual though pined for later in the evening. When I returned to the theater, a small voice of worry squeaked out that I could very well get bored with saying the same lines every night and hearing the same story. I did not handle repetition well, though all my concerns were silenced the third night I took the stage. Perhaps the problem lay in doing things and being in places that bored me to tears or aggravated me. This was hardly boring and this was pure bliss, perhaps doing this play over and over would prove more of a treat than a chore.
The third night, while holding more of the expected, was just as blissful. I realized by the fourth night that no two shows were ever alike. There were different audience members and different dynamics. We all seemed to make subtle changes in our performances and do small errors only we could catch. Every performance was like a snowflake; falling in its own beautiful pattern depending on the materials that made it.
It weighed on me more that the fourth night was the last one for the week. Colin wanted us to return on Wednesday for some touch-ups. As much as I had been concerned about repetitiveness, I found myself more concerned with the dullness of the ensuing days. Colin gave each of us our four crowns at the end of the evening. I had been putting my wages into my purse thus far and using them as extra pocket money. When I went home that night I actually thought about the little money I had been receiving for this experience. Perhaps it could add up for some legitimate purpose.
On Monday I decided to look into a few documents and listen to a few conversations pertaining to various banks around the city. The name of one bank came up in one investment document. The next day as soon as I was home and settled in, I decided to change into my rougher clothes and take a little trip to this one bank in Holborn with my acting wages. I was sure to watch over the process of creating an account when Jacob and the banker essentially did it for me. This time I was sitting down with my modest earnings. My name is Samuel Weston and I would like to open an account, I have been doing assorted odd jobs and need a safe place to put my money. I found the banker most agreeable, a little unwashed though still agreeable.
I put about six crowns into my new account, every farthing away from Jacob’s watch or grasp mattered. I decided I would put all of my acting wages here and make a point to hold aside a few more pennies to grow to fruit. I prayed to whoever was listening that Jacob would never find this account, though he had no specific business here nor did he have any connections to this area. If I were wise and watched myself he never would.
After this bit of business was over, I looked even more forward to Wednesday when this wonderful routine would start again. So far there had been no mention of any more social engagements, likely this was indeed the routine. Jacob actually mentioned this on the ride into work on Wednesday.
“London this time of year gets a bit boring,” he said. “I do hope you are being constructive with your time.”
“It is no matter,” I said. “This has given me much relaxation and reflection time.”
“And such is important,” Jacob said. “It is important to keep that balance of activity and rest.”
I was on edge the rest of the day, counting down the hours until the end of work. At last that wonderful time came and I was on the carriage home, changing as soon as I got into my apartment, and leaving for rehearsals. Riding to Mersey Hall was like riding to my true home. Seeing all those familiar friendly faces warmed my heart. We took a few hours to get back into shape for Thursday. Aunt Roberta made us all a pot of stew with fresh baked bread that we all sat and enjoyed. What she lacked as an actress she made up for as a cook.
It was hard to return to my apartment at the end of rehearsals, but I just needed to remind myself that I would be returning the next evening to shine on stage. That made the next day easier to get through; the feeling like my working self was a cover for my true identity and I would have the moment to fully reveal my true nature later in the evening. At the end of the day, I hung up that persona with my regular clothes and rode towards my real home to be who I truly was. Those few hours that night, and the next night, and the next meant more to me than all the hours I spent as my normal self; though who was the real person? Certainly not this whelp in a proper black suit, hand stained in ink, and wearing a serious demeanor all the time.
At the end of Sunday night, I would have to transition back into that persona for the next two days. I found the opposite was more true. I was always in a disguise, my costumed self was indeed my true form; that made the hours a bit more bearable. I had some reprieve on Tuesday afternoon when I deposited my crown and 3 pennies into Samuel Weston’s account. Another collection of coins earned for my own merits. I would return to my true workplace Wednesday evening in preparation for another Thursday night’s performance.
I was noticing the crowd growing larger with louder applause. Colin told us sales had been going up for this play. It was typical for the big autumn production, though this year’s showings had been a bit better attended. He credited the genius skills of all his players, least of all his new talent, for our success.
Saturday night was a packed house, which made it even more fun to step up the Queen Mab speech a bit and rib the Nurse with a little more guile. I was particularly proud of Mercutio’s death scene and even more proud of Romeo’s subsequent murder of Tybalt. I really heard the emotion in Sam’s voice. We were all in amazing form that night, all of us seemed so perfect.
At the end we all gathered for our curtain calls. The wall of jubilation on my entrance was like fire in my veins. Amid the claps and calls, I heard one voice near the front that made my hair stand on end. A male voice cried, “Bravo, Mercutio, bravo!” It sounded familiar…too familiar. I shoved aside my momentary discomfort; it was my mind playing tricks on me. My paranoia shoving into my happiness with some idle threat. I was distracted from my unpleasant thoughts by the appearance of Benvolio and then Tybalt.
At last we clasped hands, taking a moment to admire our audience. I took one look in the front row, seeing a series of men and women in their common clothes. My eye caught the sight of close-cropped red hair then the smarmy face it belonged to. My stomach twisted, my heart pounded with growing rage. He wore a simple brown coat over a regular shirt, a black riding cloak over it. There was no cravat, naturally no wig. The bastard blended right into the crowd in this low-class attire though I would know that face anywhere.
Jacob eyed me with a wide smile, yelling with the rest of the audience and clapping. I wanted nothing more than to jump off this stage and wring his fucking neck; pull his bloody head off and hold it high like Yorick’s skull. This was my safe haven, my territory; this was everything I worked for and he found his way inside. He knew about this and he presented his knowledge right as I took the stage; right in front of my friends, right in front of my audience. This was an unspeakable crime for which he deserved to die horribly.
Instead I took a subtle breath and joined my fellows for the final bow. This was my territory, my moment. I wasn’t going to let this smarmy arsehole take that away from me; not now, not ever. In this moment, however, he was wearing a happy face and applauding merrily. He wasn’t leaping on the stage to drag me off, nor was he subtly tearing me down by calling my real name. Instead my brother was actually standing there with a look of seeming interest.
He was a magnificent actor in his own right; this was just the introduction. Though why couldn’t I push out this feeling that things looked good on their head; why did I actually feel as if this was a promising development? Because perhaps I had grown that hopelessly optimistic. I knew better than to take that for reality.
I left the stage as usual, blowing some extra kisses to my adoring crowd. I immediately prepared myself for how I would deal with him later.
Chapter: 20
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: 4,832
Warnings: Language and some off-color references
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji and recognizable characters belong to Yana Toboso.
Bloody Red Doll
Part 20
The first dress rehearsals were scheduled to begin in mid November. Our main backstage marm Georgia took our basic measurements for costumes. This was not done for their construction, rather to see what garment hanging from the theater’s collective wardrobe fit the best on us. The theater had a whole collection of appropriate clothes that had been added to and altered repeatedly over the past few years. All of them were sorted by style and size in a closet and we were given a few outfits to try out.
All of the garments smelled like old wood and paint and had a stiff feel to them. I saw this as another example of how simple and quaint this whole operation was, ignoring the mild feeling of disgust it gave me. The choicest costume for me was a blue tunic with puffy sleeves and simple embroidering around the neckline accompanied by similarly puffy black trousers and thick white stockings. Georgia also gave me a nice leather belt for the tunic to tighten the material around my waist so it didn’t hang to my calves, though nothing could be done about the billowing trouser legs. It was all in the name of theater; this was merely a costume and not something I would ever wear out in polite society.
Colin made the suggestion that I keep my hair down; it would certainly make Mercutio appear more young and dashing. I was most agreeable to this, I rarely had the opportunity to go about with my hair flowing free. It felt most liberating to leave my lovely locks in their natural state and not choked off by a ponytail.
As rehearsals continued, Georgia did make-up tests on us. Before now I had never had the desire to powder my face at all. Men of my station who did that tended to be rather shallow and pompous. I just needed to think about those stark white faces in Paris with the overuse of rouge and that was enough to dissuade me. This was, however, the theater and I was agreeable at this one time.
The texture was off-putting at first, though Georgia put it on lightly and not in such a way to make me look like some kind of porcelain doll. It seemed to bring out my features, cover up a bit of that lingering shadow that all men have and no amount of shaving can fully clear. I found I looked quite…lovely? No, that couldn’t be the word, but perhaps it was. She lightly lined my eyes with charcoal, it brought out the blue color a bit. I found I was quite pleased with what I saw, perhaps this was something I could get used to.
At last all the pieces were in place for our last dress rehearsals. I would walk onstage and take my cues imagining a theater full of people watching my every move. Hopefully it would better prepare me for that first glorious moment on stage in front of an audience at last. My lines had sunk deep into my brain, I knew the blocking by heart though I still kept my muscles loose. The more run-throughs we did, the readier I became.
The first night of the play was the 21 of November. The schedule would become more regular from here on, the play running Thursday through Sunday nights. We were told should a conflict arise, it was not an issue as all the backstage crew knew everyone’s role by heart and were prepared to step in at a moment’s notice. Just let Colin know and something can be arranged. The thought of losing an opportunity to Jacob’s social schedule, however, was more than a little frightening. Fortunately the social calendar was becoming sparser and sparser the more we got into November. It would pick back up again around Christmas, though I still had another month to concern myself about that. Jacob had nothing planned for the immediate future and no one seemed to care that I was supposedly spending more time to myself. Naturally I thought up a hundred different explanations and excuses for why I wasn’t being as social, though the subject never came up.
I counted down the days until taking the stage for the first time. I expected that week to be torturous with anticipation, instead it was a pleasant distraction. This lowly office worker surrounded by all these noble idiots would be a stage star in just a matter of days. We had one more rehearsal on Wednesday to prepare for the opening on Thursday. I tried more to imagine the house packed with admirers. In truth I had no idea how I would feel standing on stage in front of this many people.
We were told to arrive by 6 o’clock in the evening on Thursday to get our make-up and costumes on. The curtain would rise at 7:30. That day at work was torturous, I found my nerves catching up with me though I tried every attempt I could to relax. I kept calm for the carriage ride back to the apartment, Jacob was idly talking about some new accounts. I was infinitely glad no mention was made of any sudden gatherings or meetings. I went home per usual, allowed myself a small glass of wine, and got on my rougher clothes for the night.
I arrived at the theater at 6 on the dot to find the others casually getting into their respective characters. My costume went on, Georgia applied my make-up, and I ran my lines through my head to get them absolutely perfect. Colin came out with a giddy smile and said we had a packed house. My heart started pounding and I felt a bit of sweat build on my back. I actually realized I was terrified; I had never done this for more than a few people in a rehearsal environment, now there had to have been nearly a hundred people outside those doors waiting for a perfect performance.
“I know it sounds like a lot of people, but you’ll love every minute of it,” Colin said. He must have seen my reaction. “They’ll become part of the performance. What I wouldn’t give to be back in your shoes now, Mr. Morris.”
I could only smile at this; I was indeed walking into one of the greatest moments of my life.
All of us gathered round behind the stage, rehearsing a few difficult lines and doing a last minute polish on our sword moves. Colin gathered us around him.
“You all are amazing actors, go out there and show everyone what you can do,” he said.
At last the clock read 7:30. The Chorus stepped out on stage and all of us heard a collective cheer to mark the beginning of the play. The Montague’s and Capulet’s came out next and their dialogue provided a nice distraction from my nerves. All of them were quite good. Our Benvolio approached the back entrance with the same nervous look I was wearing. We simply looked at each other and smiled in sympathy. His cue came and I gave him a light slap on the back as he went out. He immediately went into his lines with a strong tone like he was Benvolio approaching Tybalt. If he could be that good, what did I have to worry about?
I was rapt in the performances I head from behind the set. Ephraim was a magnificent Benvolio indeed. I was happy Sam toned down some of his melodrama for Romeo, though it still came about on occasion. Colin was perfection as Capulet, though he had decades to practice his art. I found Juliet a little too breathy for my liking even still. Aunt Roberta’s screeching delivery as the Nurse gave me a headache, though it was a role that did not require much charm.
At last Sam, Ephraim, and I gathered for the next scene. My heart pounded a bit more.
“Scared?” Sam said with a good-natured smile.
“Terrified,” I said with a grin.
“We all start out as virgins,” he said with a wink. “Happy first time.”
I snickered at the comment. The closer it came to our scene, the more the sweat ran down my back. I was completely petrified, I couldn’t even take a few steps forward for my muscles felt glued in place. This couldn’t be happening; this was the moment I had waited for my entire life and I was going to botch it in front of all those people. To consider Sam’s words, however, at least I was sober enough to enjoy this horrifying mess as opposed to my first time in bed with someone. At least this time it was consensual.
At last it was our time out. We all gave each other hearty slaps on the shoulder and walked out the door. My legs were moving on their own volition though I was numb to everything else. I decided if I messed this up, I would do so grandly. I walked out and took one peripheral glance at the audience. I saw men and women, a few children with them. All of the staring upwards, all of them clapping as we entered. I realized I was now standing in front of a theater full of people; all here to see us, all here to see me take the stage.
I felt I had missed this place all my life, that I had been exiled from this utopia and was returning to it a conquering hero. I was made for this moment. I took my usual place around Romeo and Benvolio. Their dialogue was like an everyday conversation to me as it was the first time I ever rehearsed with these gents. After all every dialogue I had ever had with anyone in my life had been scripted, all my lines rehearsed, all my movements carefully blocked. This time it was in a place where I felt truly at home. Every other time had been for show, this felt truly real. At last my time came.
“Give me a torch,” Romeo said. “I am not for this ambling being but heavy. I will bear the light.”
This was it.
“Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance,” the lines were so natural to me by now.
“Not I, believe me,” Sam continued. “You have dancing shoes with nimble soles: I have a soul of lead so stakes me to the ground I cannot move.”
“You are a lover: Borrow Cupid’s wings and soar with them above common bound,” I was perfectly relaxed now, I was Mercutio in this moment.
I was having a conversation, but one far more pleasant. No, I was not Mercutio; nor was I Grell Sutcliff, nor could I consider myself Richard Morris. I was me pure and simple; I needed no character name, I needed no role, I just needed to be. I was where I needed to be now; talking about dreams with a fellow pretender.
I went into the Queen Mab monologue as if I was predestined to give this passionate speech, like I knew all these fairy creatures I spoke of. I took my steps away from Romeo and took a good look at the audience. All eyes were on me: I saw smiles, mouths slightly open, the occasional chit chat between people though I was given the floor. This spurred me on further. My fists were in the air for my last lines of the monologue, yelling “This is she!”
At last I felt strong arms on me shoulders pulling me around, Sam’s face in mine. The crowd roared with applause, I was the man of the moment.
“Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!” Romeo said. I felt as Mercutio did, pulled back to earth after soaring through the air. “Thou talkst of nothing.”
“True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy…”
I was amazed at how I could bring myself down so easily and continue with the rest of the peaceful dialogue. At last we were leaving the stage with Romeo’s call of “On, lusty gentlemen.”
We ran from the stage to thundering claps and shouts. Blood coursed through my veins and I felt I could take on the world. Colin stood beside the stage and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me into a loose embrace.
“You were brilliant, Rich, beyond brilliant,” he said.
I could only nod with a few breathy words of thanks. No one had ever recognized me with such sincerity before. Nothing I had ever done warranted such legitimate words of praise. I felt I could melt, instead I waited for the Servingmen to leave the stage to go back on with the rest with my mask on. Every moment from then on was a new experience, I savored every single second on that stage in front of all those people. When I was not in the scene, I gleefully watched this all unfold from backstage. I had seen several versions of this play and read it so many times I knew every part by heart. Here I was making a production of it, here I was involved in a grand creation.
I was on fire when I took the stage for what would lead to Mercutio’s death scene. This was the moment I had to remember all of the sword moves and not let my lines get tripped up. I had my sword in my hand at the right moment after Tybalt’s taunts and I knew it was only a natural course from here. George must have practiced a bit more for he did not jab me once during the whole exchange. Romeo nearly tripped over me for the part where Mercutio was stabbed, though he kept his footing. George actually passed his rapier under my arm and brushed it against my side as he was supposed to instead of jabbing me as he usually did.
This would be my grandest moment in the play. I nigh convinced myself I had taken a fatal wound with the Reaper looming over me though I tried to remain flippant to the end. I was particularly proud of how I delivered the line “A plague o’ both your houses.” In the corner of my eye I could see ladies covering their mouths and men gazing at me with wide eyes. At last I was dragged off the stage by Benvolio, only taking a healthy step until I was sure I was out of view. I received a round of applause from the rest of the company when I returned backstage. I poured myself a glass of wine on a side table and enjoyed the rest of the show.
At last Romeo swallowed his poison, Juliet stabbed herself, and the Prince gave his final lines. The company broke from the stage to thunderous applause. After a few seconds, the more minor characters went up for their curtain call, then it was my turn. I stepped out onstage like a giddy prince and was embraced by a whoosh of exuberant claps and cheers. I looked out at every smiling face and clapping hand and felt I was truly home. Our Romeo and Juliet later came out to their roar of applause and we all joined hands for the last bow. The cheers and claps still floated through the air as we left the stage and died down like a passing storm.
All of us embraced backstage, there were numerous pats on the back and bows for respective jobs well done. Ephraim and I shared a tight embrace; we had just gotten though our first stage experience together. Eventually all make-up was cleaned off, costumes put back, and our mundane clothes replaced. We went to the pub and shared many toasts for a prosperous opening night. I truly felt I belonged with these fine people now. I was not merely on the outside looking in; my experience was theirs, I was a part of them now.
It almost pained me to leave for home, though I knew all of my other friends were returning to their own mundane existences as well. This was simply a life we shared.
“Glad to have you with us, Rich,” Colin said as I was leaving. “You’re an amazing actor already and you’ll only get better.”
I felt truly touched.
“Much appreciated, thank you for the opportunity,” I said.
I returned to my usual apartment to get ready for the usual next day at work, though I didn’t feel like my usual self. I felt I was part of something greater. I woke the next morning feeling a small twinge of panic; what if someone at the office had seen me last night? What if one of our associates said something to Jacob? I brushed off the thought; if Jacob confronted me on it, I would tell him right away. That wouldn’t change my involvement with Mersey Hall, nothing Jacob could do or say would stop me from returning.
There was some amount of mental preparation going into the carriage and waiting for Jacob to say something. The circumstances were not as dire as after our initial talk about Comte de Marteille, though no less unnerving. When we left, Jacob immediately went into a tirade about a labor dispute among shipmen that could delay the transport of some important materials. That was the only thing on his mind that morning, I merely followed along with a few pithy words. There was nary a mention of it at the office and the day proceeded as normal.
It freed my mind so I could concentrate on the second night of performances. I went home per usual and almost immediately got my rougher clothes on. After waiting to make sure the coast was clear, I went back to the theater for the second night. I was ready to do this again, I desired it. The other night was a trial run, now I was ready to take all my experience and do magnificent things. Colin was right, I was still very green and could only improve with experience.
Everything from slipping on my costume on to having make-up applied to hearing the audience file in gave me goose bumps. I was truly happy with every little part of this. A part of me was scared I would botch the second night after doing so well the first. I tried not to worry about it, only vowing to do what I knew I did best.
The first moment the Chorus came on stage I knew this would be excellent. I stepped out for my opening scene with nothing but confidence, the Queen Mab speech like a natural conversation. I was rewarded again with thunderous applause for my efforts. I could see subtle improvements in my costars too. Roberta was toning down her voice, Jane was putting a bit more passion into Juliet, and Sam was becoming a bit more natural as Romeo.
I nearly dropped my sword at the beginning of the fight scene with Tybalt; my face flushed for a moment, but I realized it was truly a trifle. I made like I was doing a casual move with it and continued as usual. My death scene was a bit more comfortable to me now, though I learned to insert the right amount of drama. I left the stage again a conquering hero and returned to my adoring audience at curtain call.
Everyone scattered to their respective homes after the performance, this time my home felt a little sweeter. The next day I went through work as usual though pined for later in the evening. When I returned to the theater, a small voice of worry squeaked out that I could very well get bored with saying the same lines every night and hearing the same story. I did not handle repetition well, though all my concerns were silenced the third night I took the stage. Perhaps the problem lay in doing things and being in places that bored me to tears or aggravated me. This was hardly boring and this was pure bliss, perhaps doing this play over and over would prove more of a treat than a chore.
The third night, while holding more of the expected, was just as blissful. I realized by the fourth night that no two shows were ever alike. There were different audience members and different dynamics. We all seemed to make subtle changes in our performances and do small errors only we could catch. Every performance was like a snowflake; falling in its own beautiful pattern depending on the materials that made it.
It weighed on me more that the fourth night was the last one for the week. Colin wanted us to return on Wednesday for some touch-ups. As much as I had been concerned about repetitiveness, I found myself more concerned with the dullness of the ensuing days. Colin gave each of us our four crowns at the end of the evening. I had been putting my wages into my purse thus far and using them as extra pocket money. When I went home that night I actually thought about the little money I had been receiving for this experience. Perhaps it could add up for some legitimate purpose.
On Monday I decided to look into a few documents and listen to a few conversations pertaining to various banks around the city. The name of one bank came up in one investment document. The next day as soon as I was home and settled in, I decided to change into my rougher clothes and take a little trip to this one bank in Holborn with my acting wages. I was sure to watch over the process of creating an account when Jacob and the banker essentially did it for me. This time I was sitting down with my modest earnings. My name is Samuel Weston and I would like to open an account, I have been doing assorted odd jobs and need a safe place to put my money. I found the banker most agreeable, a little unwashed though still agreeable.
I put about six crowns into my new account, every farthing away from Jacob’s watch or grasp mattered. I decided I would put all of my acting wages here and make a point to hold aside a few more pennies to grow to fruit. I prayed to whoever was listening that Jacob would never find this account, though he had no specific business here nor did he have any connections to this area. If I were wise and watched myself he never would.
After this bit of business was over, I looked even more forward to Wednesday when this wonderful routine would start again. So far there had been no mention of any more social engagements, likely this was indeed the routine. Jacob actually mentioned this on the ride into work on Wednesday.
“London this time of year gets a bit boring,” he said. “I do hope you are being constructive with your time.”
“It is no matter,” I said. “This has given me much relaxation and reflection time.”
“And such is important,” Jacob said. “It is important to keep that balance of activity and rest.”
I was on edge the rest of the day, counting down the hours until the end of work. At last that wonderful time came and I was on the carriage home, changing as soon as I got into my apartment, and leaving for rehearsals. Riding to Mersey Hall was like riding to my true home. Seeing all those familiar friendly faces warmed my heart. We took a few hours to get back into shape for Thursday. Aunt Roberta made us all a pot of stew with fresh baked bread that we all sat and enjoyed. What she lacked as an actress she made up for as a cook.
It was hard to return to my apartment at the end of rehearsals, but I just needed to remind myself that I would be returning the next evening to shine on stage. That made the next day easier to get through; the feeling like my working self was a cover for my true identity and I would have the moment to fully reveal my true nature later in the evening. At the end of the day, I hung up that persona with my regular clothes and rode towards my real home to be who I truly was. Those few hours that night, and the next night, and the next meant more to me than all the hours I spent as my normal self; though who was the real person? Certainly not this whelp in a proper black suit, hand stained in ink, and wearing a serious demeanor all the time.
At the end of Sunday night, I would have to transition back into that persona for the next two days. I found the opposite was more true. I was always in a disguise, my costumed self was indeed my true form; that made the hours a bit more bearable. I had some reprieve on Tuesday afternoon when I deposited my crown and 3 pennies into Samuel Weston’s account. Another collection of coins earned for my own merits. I would return to my true workplace Wednesday evening in preparation for another Thursday night’s performance.
I was noticing the crowd growing larger with louder applause. Colin told us sales had been going up for this play. It was typical for the big autumn production, though this year’s showings had been a bit better attended. He credited the genius skills of all his players, least of all his new talent, for our success.
Saturday night was a packed house, which made it even more fun to step up the Queen Mab speech a bit and rib the Nurse with a little more guile. I was particularly proud of Mercutio’s death scene and even more proud of Romeo’s subsequent murder of Tybalt. I really heard the emotion in Sam’s voice. We were all in amazing form that night, all of us seemed so perfect.
At the end we all gathered for our curtain calls. The wall of jubilation on my entrance was like fire in my veins. Amid the claps and calls, I heard one voice near the front that made my hair stand on end. A male voice cried, “Bravo, Mercutio, bravo!” It sounded familiar…too familiar. I shoved aside my momentary discomfort; it was my mind playing tricks on me. My paranoia shoving into my happiness with some idle threat. I was distracted from my unpleasant thoughts by the appearance of Benvolio and then Tybalt.
At last we clasped hands, taking a moment to admire our audience. I took one look in the front row, seeing a series of men and women in their common clothes. My eye caught the sight of close-cropped red hair then the smarmy face it belonged to. My stomach twisted, my heart pounded with growing rage. He wore a simple brown coat over a regular shirt, a black riding cloak over it. There was no cravat, naturally no wig. The bastard blended right into the crowd in this low-class attire though I would know that face anywhere.
Jacob eyed me with a wide smile, yelling with the rest of the audience and clapping. I wanted nothing more than to jump off this stage and wring his fucking neck; pull his bloody head off and hold it high like Yorick’s skull. This was my safe haven, my territory; this was everything I worked for and he found his way inside. He knew about this and he presented his knowledge right as I took the stage; right in front of my friends, right in front of my audience. This was an unspeakable crime for which he deserved to die horribly.
Instead I took a subtle breath and joined my fellows for the final bow. This was my territory, my moment. I wasn’t going to let this smarmy arsehole take that away from me; not now, not ever. In this moment, however, he was wearing a happy face and applauding merrily. He wasn’t leaping on the stage to drag me off, nor was he subtly tearing me down by calling my real name. Instead my brother was actually standing there with a look of seeming interest.
He was a magnificent actor in his own right; this was just the introduction. Though why couldn’t I push out this feeling that things looked good on their head; why did I actually feel as if this was a promising development? Because perhaps I had grown that hopelessly optimistic. I knew better than to take that for reality.
I left the stage as usual, blowing some extra kisses to my adoring crowd. I immediately prepared myself for how I would deal with him later.