Chapter Forty-One

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

T he constabulary of Highbridge had the sense to keep the Marakovians and the Lassiter Court mob, as the duty sergeant referred to them, apart. Jack, when his senses were fully returned, found himself slouched between Nikolai and the butler on a hard wooden bench. Tom had made a pillow of his jacket on the bench at right angles to theirs and promptly gone to sleep. Jack suspected that, in his days as a young dilettante about town, he’d spent time in the cells before, such was his easy familiarity with the place.

Jack decided that now he was a criminal, he could at least undo his tie. He could feel his eye beginning to swell, and his feeling of sickness had subsided only to be replaced by a pulsing headache. He groaned.

Nikolai looked at him with concern. ‘Vladimir was a boxer at the military academy. Most of the young men there fought with sabres, but he always preferred his fists.’

‘He could win the bareknuckle fights on Liverpool docks.’

Jack noticed a cut above Nikolai’s eye. It was still oozing blood. He withdrew his handkerchief and passed it to his mother’s new husband. He took it with a nod of thanks and held it to his forehead.

‘Yes . . . this blood, though, I think, is from a cake plate. Years fighting in France and I left without a scratch, and so my fetching facial scar will come from an English garden party.’

Jack laughed, then flinched. ‘Still, we acquitted ourselves pretty well. Hewitt, I’ve never seen a man so handy with a tea tray.’

‘I played a great deal of cricket in my youth, sir. It’s all about taking the correct stance,’ the butler replied with a sniff.

‘So you are acquainted with that Vladimir?’ Jack asked Nikolai after they had all considered this for a moment.

Nikolai removed the handkerchief and observed his own blood on it with a sigh, before refolding it and setting it on his knee. ‘I am. The present king is a good old gentleman, a little befuddled by the modern world, and I am very fond of the Crown Prince, Stefan. The king’s brother, Andrei, however, is not a man I admire. He thinks to unite our country through hatred of others – to turn the discontents and fears of our people outwards. I heard him speaking, not the king, in that ridiculous decree Vladimir read today.’

Jack rested his head against the painted brick wall. He had always assumed jail cells would be dank and foul-smelling, but the Highbridge police station cells were, if not comfortable, at least clean. They smelt of the same brand of carbolic soap which Mrs Briggs used to mop the backstage corridors.

‘Were you really supposed to ask for royal permission before you married, sir?’ Hewitt asked. Jack realised he had never seen Hewitt sitting down before. It didn’t seem proper.

‘Yes, my friend. According to the law in my land. But it is an old and foolish law. I am nowhere near the throne. If Prince Stefan dies before he has children of his own, the crown will pass to Andrei, and he has three sons and five grandsons. The crown has a great deal of people between me and it. It is an excuse, that is all, for barring me from my country.’

‘Are they all drama critics?’ Jack said, speaking softly in an attempt to stop the pain in his head finding some new level of excruciating.

‘Ha! That is amusing. You are not happy with me having your theatre for a fortnight, Jack?’

Pain bounced him into honesty. ‘Not entirely.’

Nikolai seemed unabashed. ‘It is only two weeks. And perhaps I will surprise you.’

‘I am not sure I’d ever feel quite right again, were I to be exiled from England,’ Hewitt observed.

‘Exile, permanent exile, was always a possibility. I feel it, Hewitt, I do. But I am not afraid of it. I would rather be here, free, than there denying my beliefs and watching men like Vladimir Taargin teaching my countrymen to hate.’

A whistle and a distant rattle of keys alerted them to the arrival of the sergeant. He observed them slowly through the bars, then turned the key and swung open the gates.

‘Evening, gentlemen. Now, I have it on good authority – the authority of Lady Lassiter, in fact – that you will not take this as a general licence to throw your fists about.’ Jack sat up, trying to give the impression of an obedient Labrador. ‘But you are to be released without charge.’

Tom swung himself upright and yawned as if he’d had a particularly refreshing nap.

‘Afternoon, Bert! How are Lottie and the kids?’

‘All very well, sir—’

‘That’s smashing,’ Jack interrupted. ‘The kids and our being released, I mean, but what is happening to the ambassador and his chums? Damn it, they came uninvited to Lillian’s wedding!’

‘I believe that they were not the first to employ fisticuffs, however,’ Bert said, raising an eyebrow. Jack avoided his gaze. ‘Well . . . We had a word with them about bursting in to other people’s nuptial celebrations in such an insulting manner. My constable has put them on the train back to London, and they have been strongly advised not to return.’

‘Is that it?’ Jack asked.

‘We had a telegram from London,’ Bert said, fiddling with the keys. ‘Apparently locking up a group of Marakovians, including the ambassador, while they are planning a royal visit, is frowned upon.’

‘Think we’ve seen the last of them, then?’ Tom asked. His jacket had miraculously avoided getting cake on it, or getting crumpled when he used it for a pillow. He looked as if he were about to step out of his tailor’s, not a prison cell. He put out his hand and Jack was hauled to his feet. He was sure he looked as bad as he felt, and he felt particularly rough.

Nikolai was pale, and the gash on his forehead made him look paler, but he got to his feet unaided, tucking Jack’s handkerchief in his pocket.

‘I fear we have not seen the last of them.’

Hewitt straightened his already straight tie. ‘Then I shall keep the tray handy.’

Nikolai paused, studying the sergeant. ‘You have a most interesting face.’

Bert rubbed it with his hand. ‘Do I, sir? I am glad it pleases you, I suppose.’

‘It does,’ Nikolai said, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘I intend to put you in my play.’

‘What? Base a character on the sergeant, do you mean?’ Jack said, feeling his head pulse.

‘No!’ Nikolai said. ‘I want Bert himself on stage. Bert, you are the first member of my company.’

‘Am I, sir?’

‘You are. Please call in at The Empire and leave a note of your availability for rehearsals with that funny little man who lives in the ticket box.’

‘You mean Mr Poole, and it’s box office,’ Jack said, struggling to keep up. ‘Do I understand you mean to use amateurs in your production?’

‘Absolutely!’ Nikolai declared. ‘The use of amateurs, local people known around the town, is a key part of my theatrical philosophy.’ He slung his jacket over his shoulder. ‘We have begun.’

‘Amateurs,’ Jack murmured to himself as they emerged from the station to find Lillian and Grace waiting for them by Lillian’s touring car. Stella had brought her sports car, and leapt out of it to offer Hewitt a kiss on the cheek and a lift back to the house with her and Tom. Hewitt consented to both.

‘Amateurs,’ Jack said again, more loudly as he clambered into the back of Lillian’s tourer.

‘What’s that, darling?’ Grace asked, settling in next to him, then touching his forehead. ‘You’ve got the most awful bump.’

‘Perhaps that’s it,’ he replied, trying to cram his long legs into the available space, ‘because I could have sworn I heard Nikolai say he intends to fill our stage with amateurs.’

‘I did say that.’ Nikolai kissed his wife, then got into the front seat and drummed his hands on the dashboard.

‘Amateurs, Nikolai?’ Lillian said doubtfully as she started the car.

‘Exactly. My method involves forming a drama around the people of a place – a place like Highbridge.’ He looked at his new wife and smiled fondly at her. ‘Lillian, my love, you must trust me. I am not finding a play I like by a clever writer, then finding people to play the roles. I find the people, and we form the drama together.’

‘It sounds very unusual, Nikolai,’ Lillian replied.

‘It is. But you people put on a “pantomime”, so I do not understand for a moment why my little experiment should make you so nervous. But I do not ask you to trust me, my dear. You may have your doubts. Then, in six weeks’ time, you will see what sort of man you have married.’ He twisted in his seat. ‘Has the party continued in our absence?’

Grace smiled. ‘It has. When we left the house, Joe and Agnes were retrieving the top tier of the wedding cake and searching for the cake forks in the shrubbery. The party has turned into a sort of scavenger hunt.’

Jack stirred uneasily. ‘You continued with the party? Shouldn’t you have been crying into tiny white handkerchieves over us, or something?’

‘We were confident you’d be resolute,’ Grace said. ‘And don’t worry, there’s still a lot of champagne left.’

‘I couldn’t let a little thing like my husband being carted off to gaol ruin the day, Jack,’ Lillian said, and Nikolai laughed.

‘Oh, I wish Ruby were here,’ Grace said. ‘She would love a good food fight.’

She looked out of the window, and Jack wound his fingers around hers. ‘We all do, Grace.’

She thumbed a tear away from her eye. ‘Did I tell you that Tasha Kingsland’s parents came to the theatre yesterday afternoon?’

‘That was the poor girl who died, wasn’t it?’ Lillian asked.

‘Yes, they were looking for Stella. I took their address, but I haven’t dared speak to her about it as yet.’

‘After the way she ran off last time, that’s not surprising,’ Lillian said, turning the car into the drive leading to Lassiter Court. ‘She’s promised to be here to see Nikolai and me off tomorrow. Perhaps it’s time to see if you can get to the bottom of what happened, Grace.’