Carver's Truth by Nick Rennison

Author:Nick Rennison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books
Published: 2016-03-20T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

With a flourish of his cape, Adam strode into the wings. He had, he knew, forty minutes before his presence was next required. During all that time, Cyril Montague would be on stage.

Several days had passed since he and Quint had joined the company. Although Adam had found no trace of Dolly Delaney, they had been eventful days. He had found a ready acceptance in the company at the Grand: Mrs Skeffington, a kindly woman twice her husband’s size, had taken an almost motherly interest in him; Miss Delgado had flirted incomprehensibly with him in what he had originally assumed was her native tongue but turned out to be her own idiosyncratic version of English; and Cyril Montague, on being formally introduced, had looked at him as if he was sure he knew him but couldn’t quite place where they had met before. The other male actors had initially viewed him with suspicion but they were all good-natured, effervescent young men and had been unable to maintain their antagonism for more than twenty-four hours.

Adam’s debut in The Spectre Bridegroom was soon upon him, filling him with nervousness, but he found that Timble had been largely correct. As long as he could remember his lines, which, since he was a spirit returned from the grave, were few in number, and could avoid bumping into the props, he could play his part. And he found the applause that greeted him when he took his bow before the curtains at the end of the evening surprisingly rewarding. He had always thought that he was someone who would not enjoy public acclaim, but it appeared he had been mistaken.

Tonight was the third performance of The Spectre Bridegroom. Adam had decided to use the time when he was offstage to search Cyril Montague’s rooms.

Adam strode through the stage door and out into the street. A respectably dressed man and his wife gazed at him in astonishment as he marched past them. For a moment, he was puzzled. He did not usually attract such surprised attention from passers-by. Then he recalled that he was dressed in his stage clothes and daubed with greasepaint applied by the enthusiastic hand of Skeffington’s make-up man. As he was, after all, supposed to be a spectral bridegroom, he could expect curious stares, at the very least, from any citizens he might encounter. Luckily, few seemed to be about on Goodramgate and, walking swiftly, he soon turned into the courtyard he had visited a few days earlier.

Once again, Adam found the building in which Montague had his lodgings. As he had expected, its main door was open: the place was home to a score of people other than the actor and all would need access day and night. Adam climbed up to the attic room, stumbling twice on the creaking stairs. On both occasions he cursed under his breath and paused, waiting for someone to emerge from the rooms he had just passed, although no one did. There was the

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