Chapter Forty-Five

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

T he approaching opening night of Nikolai’s play The Seven Trials of Septimius Grey was causing a buzz in town, but it was not the sort of buzz that Jack liked. He liked whipping up some excitement, scattering fairy dust, offering gossip and glamour to the newspapers in the run-up to a show, like an uncle cramming too many iced buns down the throats of his nephews and nieces. He wanted his audience giddy and excited, ready to be pleased before they even got inside the auditorium.

The energy radiating out from The Empire in the run-up to this particular show felt much darker. Nikolai allowed no photographer to take photographs of the set, no interviews with the accidental stars who would be appearing, and even the dress rehearsal would be closed. The posters announced only the dates, the eye-wateringly low prices, the title, and the legend CONCEIVED AND PERFORMED BY THE HIGHbrIDGE THEATRE COLLECTIVE .

And now it seemed the whole backstage crew, from wardrobe to the paint shop, were in on the conspiracy to keep him and Lillian in the dark.

Wilbur pushed Jack’s pint over to him. ‘So what’s he doing?’

‘I don’t know! That’s the entire point! But yesterday I found the whole backstage crew coming out of the rehearsal rooms. They were all pink in the face and chattering like magpies, but as soon as they saw me, they buttoned their lips and wouldn’t tell me anything.’

Wilbur shrugged. ‘And the cast?’

‘I don’t know that either! All I know is that people turn up at the stage door at all hours claiming to be part of the production.’

‘And what does Ollie do?’

Jack supped deeply. ‘I think he’s as confused as I am. Danny says he’s taken to sleeping on the other side of the counter. It’s as if he’s refusing to take responsibility for deciding between Nikolai’s interesting amateurs and every potential burglar who might be helping himself to the family silver.’

‘Keep much family silver in the theatre, do you?’

‘No, Wilbur, we don’t. But it’s the principle. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on in the theatre, and it’s rattling me.’

Wilbur leant his back against the bar. ‘Things are getting tense at Lassiter Enterprises, you know?’

‘Oh yes?’ Jack said. ‘I thought all that nonsense was out of the way last year.’

Wilbur frowned. ‘Men and women wanting to earn enough to keep a roof over their heads isn’t nonsense, Jack. The General Strike might have fizzled out, but no one was left any happier. Tom has encouraged his men to unionise, and they’re talking about it to workers in the other sheds. And I think the rumours about Kelly and his men working with Constance Lassiter to prevent her people unionising are true.’

Jack sucked his teeth. ‘Really? Poor Tom.’

He paid for their drinks, and they moved away to a corner table under one of the windows.

‘I hear Tom’s doing well,’ Wilbur said. ‘Word is he works like a Trojan, and treats his people properly. Plenty of people saying it’s a shame he doesn’t run the whole company.’

Jack studied his beer. ‘Not for publication, Wilbur, but it seems Constance has been secretly at work to make our lives hell since the New Empire opened. Grace and I think she might be a little mad.’ He told Wilbur some of the details. ‘She was planning on sabotaging the shellac, too, the night before we opened the shop. Luckily Joe Allerdyce had put two and two together, and gave us a warning.’

‘You caught someone?’

Jack hesitated, finishing the rest of his beer. ‘We changed the locks,’ he said quietly.

‘And what will you do about Constance?’

Jack ordered them both another pint, then watched them being poured, his elbows resting on the table, watching the light from the leaded windows sparkle on the nut-brown polish. ‘That’ll be up to Tom, though I’m not sure he knows it yet.’