New Albion by Dwayne Brenna Read Free Book Online

Mrs. Wilton replied, rather gruffly. “And this morning they are flitting about the backstage like larks in springtime.”
    “We will discuss it at the company meeting tomorrow,” Mr. Wilton said, “but I’m sure no man working under this roof could be so callow as that.” This last part was intended for Mr. Sharpe’s ears, and Mr. Manning’s, and Mr. Hampton’s. “This morning I’m occupied with introducing Mr. Tyrone to his new colleagues.” Mr. Wilton grabbed young Tyrone by the elbow, and before Mrs. Wilton could say another word, they were across the stage and down to an aisle in the pit where his daughter Eliza was having a word with young Master West.
    The Parisian Phenomenon and Master West were engaged in an intense conversation when her father happened by with the new apprentice. I heard the last few sentences that they uttered to one another, sentences which sounded a great deal like other conversations the Parisian Phenomenon had had with other young romantic leads who had been employed briefly at our theatre.
    “I am sure, Mr. West, that if I had known that you love another,” Eliza said, weeping real tears into a new lace handkerchief, “I never would have permitted you –”
    Master West then discreetly clasped her downstage hand in his own. “If there is anything that your good graces have taught me in these last two months, it is that it is possible for a man to be in love with two women at once.”
    Eliza offered up a jejeune expression. “It may be possible for you,” she said, “but it is utterly impossible for me. I can only love once the way I have loved you.”
    “My heart breaks to hear it,” the young man replied, on cue, “but I am betrothed to another. Please find it in your heart to release me from the bondage to which I have enthralled myself.”
    When Mr. Wilton entered in upon this conversation with the new apprentice, Master West had the good sense to make an exit. Mr. Wilton’s eyes followed Master West wearily out of the doors and into the front-of-house. “Darling, may I present the new apprentice,” he said, after a moment. “Mr. Tyrone.”
    Eliza Wilton did not find the young man appealing. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” she said in a curt tone, depositing her handkerchief up her sleeve.
    “This is my daughter, Eliza,” Mr. Wilton continued, “although you may know her from our playbills as the Parisian Phenomenon, Mademoiselle Champetre.” Mr. Wilton gazed at the young man expectantly, but there was no glimmer of recognition in Colin Tyrone’s eyes.
    “I’m sure yer daughter is every inch a phenomenon,” said the young man ominously.
    To which Mr. Wilton replied, “Yes, well, let me take you to meet the man to whom you are apprenticing, without further ado.”
    It had been apparent at his entrance through the stage door that Mr. Farquhar Pratt was not having one of his good days. He had arrived later than usual, his greatcoat weighing heavily across his shoulders, his gait unsteady, and his eyes tired and uncertain. Upon his arrival at the theatre, Pratty had shuffled by us, mumbling to himself about a conversation two of his characters were having, and gone directly to the stage, where Mr. Watts and Mr. Hicks were waiting for their dialogue.
    This Friday, we are opening Karim, the Spirit Magician, A Supernatural Extravaganza , and Pratty has been tardy, as usual, in delivering the prompt scripts to the actors. Our two leading men, Mr. Watts and Mr. Hicks, forced by circumstances of their employment into a conflictual union, both hurriedly read through their own lines while keeping an eye on the other’s promptbook, trying to gauge who had the larger role. The incurably sensitive and effete Mr. Watts talked volubly all the while of his performance with Macready in Edinburgh and how the great man really did wave the white handkerchief as Hamlet and how the boorish American, Forrest, had hissed from the boxes. One would think that Watts had played