Petunia and her dancers left the stage, to sounds of
disappointment at their departure, and the piano accompaniment was bulked out
by a drummer,who was a small girl in pigtails who managed to get more noise
from a drum than seemed likely for her size. She stood to one side of the stage,
and drum-rolled in three men, two of whom Ernest recognised as Julian and
Sandy, wearing something that looked to him like long johns with embroidery.
They somersaulted with accuracy but not much grace, around an enormous,
muscular man with a handlebar moustache that was nearly as wide as his
shoulders. This man bent various metal items, lifted the drummer girl and spun
her about, and supported Julian and Sandy into a rather wobbly pyramid.
These feats of strength impressed the audience, who chattered to each other about how they could put him to work in the markets and the docks. They were less delighted by the Flying Lombardos, who were now finishing off with a display of flying from a trapeze that was so low it was more of a swing. Many of their comments flew literally over Ernest’s head, but he got the idea that the costers did not see leaping about in spangled tights as a very manly occupation.
A slew of acts followed, all of them delighting Ernest, who had never seen anything to match them for colour and excitement. They were penny pictures from the Illustrated News come to noisy life, and he drank in the spectacle of artistes including ‘Lorenzo the Human Serpent’ and Captain Moretti, whose handsome features brought forth a lot of twittering, giggling and whistles from the ladies in the theatre. When Moretti threw a knife straight up in the air, and then seemed to catch it between his teeth, one stout matron fainted, and was carried out with very little dignity or care, over the heads of her friends.
Ernest was puzzled by Julian and Sandy’s comic turn as a couple of West End swells, because he did not understand why the audience found their conversation so funny, but he was pleased that they did, that his friends had the audience hanging on their every word. Next came a woman dressed as a little girl, who tried to sing a nursery rhyme ‘Daddy wouldn’t buy me a bow-wow’ but was drowned out by calls from the young men asking to be allowed to stroke her little cat. Ernest once again had a slightly sick feeling that he was missing something, and he thought the woman was far too old to be dressed in petticoats and frills, so he waited to see what would be on next.
Professor Hazlitt, who had been introducing the acts, hushed the audience and asked for their co-operation, since Mystic Mavis could not otherwise connect with the spirit world. Ernest swallowed. He knew his Mother would be horrified if she found out that he had watched a medium at work, and her warnings about evil had been very clear. But he was trapped by the press of the crowd, and he told himself that this was an act, that she was only a fraud, it was some kind of conjuring trick, nothing more supernatural than Prof Hazlitt producing bunches of flowers from thin air, which he had done between the acts.
Mavis was a very large woman dressed entirely in black, shiny material in an old fashioned, full bustle style. She wore a rope of pearls around her neck, and a cluster of glittering rings that sparkled in the gaslights whenever she stretched out her hands to the audience. She was alone on the stage, and began simply by walking to the front and announcing ‘Friends.’
‘Hallo, look out here comes the sermon.’ Muttered someone near Ernest.
‘Friends, I am looking for someone here – someone in the audience has lost a dearly loved one.’
‘Ain’t we all’ came a shout from the back.
Mavis paused, and lifted her head as if listening to someone to her left. She nodded, and smiled, and then gave a small laugh.
‘I’ve been talking to Ted. He says not to worry, the accident was very quick. He didn’t feel a thing.’
There was a gasp from the circle above, and every head in the stalls craned round to look as a young woman stood up, crying ‘Ted. My Ted.’
Mavis stretched her arms up. ‘He says he’ll always be with you.’
‘Oh my Lord no.’ said the woman. ‘I hope not. I’m getting married next month. Tell him to get lost.’
During the uproar that followed Mavis put her hands on her hips. ‘Now, look here… ‘ she began, but then she seemed to stiffen, her head jerking backwards, her arms raised. ‘Look out!’ she shouted, ‘Run boys, run!’ She stood quite still, the words coming out in a rush, her deep tones now high and breathless, the colour drained from her face. ‘Crimson petals. Now sleep the crimson petals in the dark. The dark the grey the fog the fog is falling, rolling down over the sleeping petals in the dark wood. Sleepers beware. The eyes of him, the eyes. Oh – see only the eyes!’ She broke off, sobbing, and collapsed to her knees. Professor Hazlit and Maggie came on stage from either side to attend to her, but she scrambled to her feet and pointed straight down the hall. Straight at Ernest. ‘The boys know. They are blooded.’ She said. ‘One knows who was born to it. One has yet to waken. Terror shall be their ending, and their binding, and their beginning.’
Ernest felt every pair of eyes looking at him as she spoke, and wished he could hide under the benches, but he was pinned there by her words. Although he did not understand what they might mean, he felt no uncertainty. He knew that the message was for him. The men around him, however, were divided. Many were applauding this melodramatic ending to the act, appreciating the high drama of the show. Some were disapproving and shouted that it was all a fraud, and shouldn’t be allowed, and to bring back the dancers. A few seemed actually scared.
Professor Hazlitt wasted no time in bundling Mystic Mavis out of sight, and with a rousing fanfare on a squeaky bugle, Sals stepped onto the stage in her full uniform. This time the crowd at the back of the stalls made a rush to the front, and Ernest was carried along with them. Sals made a very dashing officer under the lights, and started off with a patriotic song that the audience all knew and joined in with the chorus. Ernest found himself grinning up at her, the chill that he had felt at Mavis’s pronouncement disappeared. Sals performed ‘my time with the Regiment’ and then a very fast paced song with a chorus that was something about ‘I asked the Colonel’s daughter, and she said we didn’t ought ta, but she said she’d like to try it so we did.’ Ernest was beginning to guess what these songs were about, and that there was much more to them than the words. At the end of the song Sals swept into a deep bow, and then caught sight of Ernest in the press of men around the piano. She wagged a disapproving finger at him, but then smiled. She pulled him up on the stage, Ernest kicking with his heels against the side of it to scramble up, and then she pushed him into the wings where Maggie met him with a slap round the side of his head.
‘What did I tell you? She hissed. Should’ve known that make it a dead cert you’d turn up. I should wash your ears out with soap I should.’
‘I’m alright. I’ve had a lovely time.’ Whispered Ernest
‘Oh a lovely time. As if you’d been to tea at the vicar’s. Which is where we’d better tell your Ma you have been.’
They fell silent to listen to Sals finish off her act with Rule Britannia and Land of Hope and Glory, which she had to sing twice before she could leave the stage, and such was the passion roused in the audience that they went on to sing it again without her, or the pianist who had also fled. Sals returned for the curtain call, leading on the entire company of players, and then retreating before a shower of flowers, tangerine peel, love notes and small change.
Ernest followed them backstage, and was lost in a pile of discarded costumes as the dancers, oblivious to him or anyone else, peeled off their finery and pulled the feathers from their hair. In the euphoria of the end of a successful performance, with everyone congratulating each other and re-enacting the best bits, only Mavis sat alone, her head down and her hands loose in her lap. Ernest knelt in front of her and took her hands. ‘I understood.’ He said. ‘I mean, not the words – I don’t know why you were talking to me about red petals and fog – but I understand about the eyes, and the danger.’
Mavis looked directly at him, her large grey eyes brimming. ‘So it was you I was talking to? I could see someone – the youth of you in the darkness.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know myself, my duck. I don’t know where all that nonsense come from. But it’s knocked me sideways, I can tell you. So if it helps you, ever, well good luck to you. Have a drink on me some day.’ She drew herself up and smiled. ‘Don’t you go worrying about it now. You go and have fun with the rest of them. I’m off for an early night and a hot gin.’
Maggie put her hand on Ernest’s shoulder. ‘How d’you like porter and oysters for supper?’ she laughed at Ernest’s confusion. ‘Don’t tell me a gentleman like you’s never had an oyster? Come on – let’s corrupt you a bit more then. Gabriel’s here an all. Feel like I’m running a wossit called – a Prep school tonight. Let’s see if you looks man enough to get into the pub.’
Ernest was finally pushed out of the dressing rooms while everyone changed, and so he found himself hanging about in the now deserted entrance porch. He looked out into the street, and saw, sauntering towards him, a boy of about his own age. The boy was dressed in an elegant military style suit that buttoned diagonally across his chest, with a warm cape slung with style back over this shoulder. He looked like a dandy and walked like a swell, as if he owned the shabby alley and the whole theatre. He stopped to take a good look at Ernest, who had come to take a closer look at him. It was not quite like looking into a mirror, but at a reflection of what Ernest could, should look like, given food, leisure and a wealthy household. ‘Are you Gabriel?’ Ernest asked.
‘Sink me. The women were right. Ernest, I presume?’ Gabriel proffered a gloved hand.
These feats of strength impressed the audience, who chattered to each other about how they could put him to work in the markets and the docks. They were less delighted by the Flying Lombardos, who were now finishing off with a display of flying from a trapeze that was so low it was more of a swing. Many of their comments flew literally over Ernest’s head, but he got the idea that the costers did not see leaping about in spangled tights as a very manly occupation.
A slew of acts followed, all of them delighting Ernest, who had never seen anything to match them for colour and excitement. They were penny pictures from the Illustrated News come to noisy life, and he drank in the spectacle of artistes including ‘Lorenzo the Human Serpent’ and Captain Moretti, whose handsome features brought forth a lot of twittering, giggling and whistles from the ladies in the theatre. When Moretti threw a knife straight up in the air, and then seemed to catch it between his teeth, one stout matron fainted, and was carried out with very little dignity or care, over the heads of her friends.
Ernest was puzzled by Julian and Sandy’s comic turn as a couple of West End swells, because he did not understand why the audience found their conversation so funny, but he was pleased that they did, that his friends had the audience hanging on their every word. Next came a woman dressed as a little girl, who tried to sing a nursery rhyme ‘Daddy wouldn’t buy me a bow-wow’ but was drowned out by calls from the young men asking to be allowed to stroke her little cat. Ernest once again had a slightly sick feeling that he was missing something, and he thought the woman was far too old to be dressed in petticoats and frills, so he waited to see what would be on next.
Professor Hazlitt, who had been introducing the acts, hushed the audience and asked for their co-operation, since Mystic Mavis could not otherwise connect with the spirit world. Ernest swallowed. He knew his Mother would be horrified if she found out that he had watched a medium at work, and her warnings about evil had been very clear. But he was trapped by the press of the crowd, and he told himself that this was an act, that she was only a fraud, it was some kind of conjuring trick, nothing more supernatural than Prof Hazlitt producing bunches of flowers from thin air, which he had done between the acts.
Mavis was a very large woman dressed entirely in black, shiny material in an old fashioned, full bustle style. She wore a rope of pearls around her neck, and a cluster of glittering rings that sparkled in the gaslights whenever she stretched out her hands to the audience. She was alone on the stage, and began simply by walking to the front and announcing ‘Friends.’
‘Hallo, look out here comes the sermon.’ Muttered someone near Ernest.
‘Friends, I am looking for someone here – someone in the audience has lost a dearly loved one.’
‘Ain’t we all’ came a shout from the back.
Mavis paused, and lifted her head as if listening to someone to her left. She nodded, and smiled, and then gave a small laugh.
‘I’ve been talking to Ted. He says not to worry, the accident was very quick. He didn’t feel a thing.’
There was a gasp from the circle above, and every head in the stalls craned round to look as a young woman stood up, crying ‘Ted. My Ted.’
Mavis stretched her arms up. ‘He says he’ll always be with you.’
‘Oh my Lord no.’ said the woman. ‘I hope not. I’m getting married next month. Tell him to get lost.’
During the uproar that followed Mavis put her hands on her hips. ‘Now, look here… ‘ she began, but then she seemed to stiffen, her head jerking backwards, her arms raised. ‘Look out!’ she shouted, ‘Run boys, run!’ She stood quite still, the words coming out in a rush, her deep tones now high and breathless, the colour drained from her face. ‘Crimson petals. Now sleep the crimson petals in the dark. The dark the grey the fog the fog is falling, rolling down over the sleeping petals in the dark wood. Sleepers beware. The eyes of him, the eyes. Oh – see only the eyes!’ She broke off, sobbing, and collapsed to her knees. Professor Hazlit and Maggie came on stage from either side to attend to her, but she scrambled to her feet and pointed straight down the hall. Straight at Ernest. ‘The boys know. They are blooded.’ She said. ‘One knows who was born to it. One has yet to waken. Terror shall be their ending, and their binding, and their beginning.’
Ernest felt every pair of eyes looking at him as she spoke, and wished he could hide under the benches, but he was pinned there by her words. Although he did not understand what they might mean, he felt no uncertainty. He knew that the message was for him. The men around him, however, were divided. Many were applauding this melodramatic ending to the act, appreciating the high drama of the show. Some were disapproving and shouted that it was all a fraud, and shouldn’t be allowed, and to bring back the dancers. A few seemed actually scared.
Professor Hazlitt wasted no time in bundling Mystic Mavis out of sight, and with a rousing fanfare on a squeaky bugle, Sals stepped onto the stage in her full uniform. This time the crowd at the back of the stalls made a rush to the front, and Ernest was carried along with them. Sals made a very dashing officer under the lights, and started off with a patriotic song that the audience all knew and joined in with the chorus. Ernest found himself grinning up at her, the chill that he had felt at Mavis’s pronouncement disappeared. Sals performed ‘my time with the Regiment’ and then a very fast paced song with a chorus that was something about ‘I asked the Colonel’s daughter, and she said we didn’t ought ta, but she said she’d like to try it so we did.’ Ernest was beginning to guess what these songs were about, and that there was much more to them than the words. At the end of the song Sals swept into a deep bow, and then caught sight of Ernest in the press of men around the piano. She wagged a disapproving finger at him, but then smiled. She pulled him up on the stage, Ernest kicking with his heels against the side of it to scramble up, and then she pushed him into the wings where Maggie met him with a slap round the side of his head.
‘What did I tell you? She hissed. Should’ve known that make it a dead cert you’d turn up. I should wash your ears out with soap I should.’
‘I’m alright. I’ve had a lovely time.’ Whispered Ernest
‘Oh a lovely time. As if you’d been to tea at the vicar’s. Which is where we’d better tell your Ma you have been.’
They fell silent to listen to Sals finish off her act with Rule Britannia and Land of Hope and Glory, which she had to sing twice before she could leave the stage, and such was the passion roused in the audience that they went on to sing it again without her, or the pianist who had also fled. Sals returned for the curtain call, leading on the entire company of players, and then retreating before a shower of flowers, tangerine peel, love notes and small change.
Ernest followed them backstage, and was lost in a pile of discarded costumes as the dancers, oblivious to him or anyone else, peeled off their finery and pulled the feathers from their hair. In the euphoria of the end of a successful performance, with everyone congratulating each other and re-enacting the best bits, only Mavis sat alone, her head down and her hands loose in her lap. Ernest knelt in front of her and took her hands. ‘I understood.’ He said. ‘I mean, not the words – I don’t know why you were talking to me about red petals and fog – but I understand about the eyes, and the danger.’
Mavis looked directly at him, her large grey eyes brimming. ‘So it was you I was talking to? I could see someone – the youth of you in the darkness.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know myself, my duck. I don’t know where all that nonsense come from. But it’s knocked me sideways, I can tell you. So if it helps you, ever, well good luck to you. Have a drink on me some day.’ She drew herself up and smiled. ‘Don’t you go worrying about it now. You go and have fun with the rest of them. I’m off for an early night and a hot gin.’
Maggie put her hand on Ernest’s shoulder. ‘How d’you like porter and oysters for supper?’ she laughed at Ernest’s confusion. ‘Don’t tell me a gentleman like you’s never had an oyster? Come on – let’s corrupt you a bit more then. Gabriel’s here an all. Feel like I’m running a wossit called – a Prep school tonight. Let’s see if you looks man enough to get into the pub.’
Ernest was finally pushed out of the dressing rooms while everyone changed, and so he found himself hanging about in the now deserted entrance porch. He looked out into the street, and saw, sauntering towards him, a boy of about his own age. The boy was dressed in an elegant military style suit that buttoned diagonally across his chest, with a warm cape slung with style back over this shoulder. He looked like a dandy and walked like a swell, as if he owned the shabby alley and the whole theatre. He stopped to take a good look at Ernest, who had come to take a closer look at him. It was not quite like looking into a mirror, but at a reflection of what Ernest could, should look like, given food, leisure and a wealthy household. ‘Are you Gabriel?’ Ernest asked.
‘Sink me. The women were right. Ernest, I presume?’ Gabriel proffered a gloved hand.
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