Dead for a Spell by Raymond Buckland

Author:Raymond Buckland
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-08-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

I had spent much of Monday trying to get my mind around the idea of people performing elaborate rituals to bring about the appearance of demons and entities of various kinds, most of which, it seemed to me, were thoroughly unwholesome. Mr. Stoker pointed out how dangerous the practice was, and the fact that many a would-be ceremonial magician had ended up in Southwark at Bethlem Hospital, better known as Bedlam, or at the more recently established Colney Hatch asylum.

“One wrong move, one incorrect intonation, and the demon can swoop in and seize the very reason of the would-be conjurer,” Stoker had said. “Yet such are the promised rewards of this odious practice that there is no lack of those who would attempt it.”

To my mind, no magical carrot would ever tempt me into the insane asylum. My head was buzzing around these ideas when I entered my office Tuesday morning to find Miss Edwina Abbott awaiting me. As always, she was clutching her precious tarot cards.

“Yes, Miss Abbott?” I said.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Rivers, but there is something that I think you ought to know about.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, it’s not really my place . . .”

“Miss Abbott! What is it?”

“It’s that person as Mr. Irving had us take into our crowd scenes. Mr. Hartzman.”

“What about him?”

“Well, sir, it’s difficult to put a finger on it . . .”

“Try, Edwina.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Rivers. Well, he seems to stir things up, if’n you know what I mean.”

“Stir things up?”

“Yes, sir. The greenroom used to be a nice place where we could all relax a bit between scenes, but now it seems there’s always arguments going on there. Mr. Hartzman is forever criticizing Mr. Irving and the way he acts; and I mean, him being the Guv’nor and all . . .”

“But surely no one listens to him, do they?”

“Well, sir, I’d like to say not, but there’s a few of the new ones—who just came in for Hamlet and as wasn’t in the Lyceum for other productions—well, some of them certainly listen to him.”

She looked anxious, as though uncertain whether or not she should have said anything at all.

What was going on? Was this just some petty little squabble among the extras? There would be no good reason for the colonel to knowingly bring a miscreant into the Lyceum. It was not for me to question the Guv’nor’s arrangements, nor even to look askance at the colonel’s employees, but I did have concern for the Lyceum cast and crew. A happy theatre means a successful production. A successful production means profits for the Lyceum. Profits for the Lyceum bespeak a happy theatre. It was a continuous circle. I would brook no interference from outsiders.

“Thank you for letting me know, Miss Abbott. I will take it from here. I will ask Mr. Stoker to have a word or two with the person concerned.”

“Should I do anything, Mr. Rivers?”

“Just keep an ear open, if you would, please? If there

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