Lovers' Vows by Smith Joan

Author:Smith, Joan [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9781610849654
Publisher: Belgrave House/Regency Reads
Published: 2016-08-26T23:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 14

The next day, at rehearsal, it was made clear to everyone that Foxey was not pulling his weight. Every scene in which Mercutio had a part was held up by his lack of preparation. The others were no longer using their books but, even with his text in his hand, Foxey could not perform satisfactorily. He could scarcely read the words, let alone memorize them, or pronounce them with any force or expression. He frowned into his text, stumbling out the obscure phrases. “ ‘0 that she were an open et cetera, thou a pop’rin pear!’ Now really, Dew, what the deuce does this drivel mean? Imagine Shakespeare sunk to saying et cetera—thought he was supposed to know all the words. I refuse to learn this muck.”

When he was not on stage, he was causing a commotion in the pit, duelling with Tybalt, pestering Juliet, and generally upsetting the organization. When the cast took a break for tea, a group of the mature dames got together to discuss the matter. “I am surprised Dewar does not replace him,” Miss Hall said.

Several of the dames cast a meaningful glance on Holly. She shook her head firmly. “I have already hinted and been snubbed, I think his cousin, who is to arrive today, may do for the part.”

“Ah, very likely that is what he has in mind,” the ladies agreed, happy to have a solution without having to confront Dewar over it. He was very agreeable and obliging, to be sure, but everyone has a fault, and wanting—in fact insisting—that everything be done his own way was undeniably Dewar’s imperfection.

Mrs. Abercrombie, though she did not mention it, could hardly fail to notice that her stage had been lowered not inches, but three feet. The Misses Hall, too, had not been entirely happy to have their orange trees pulled out of their warm conservatory and hauled to the Abbey in the cold, to see how they would look in the orchard scene.

And as to the mead! A battle had nearly been precipitated over that point. Welsh nectar would have been ever so much easier (and cheaper) without adding any anachronism to the feast, but it was mead Dewar insisted upon, and was to have, while the Bartletts had the trouble of making it. No open hostility was allowed to be seen, but in the privacy of certain saloons there were a few uncomplimentary remarks exchanged.

“How is the fermentation coming on?” Dewar asked Mrs. Bartlett as he passed amongst his slaves during one of the tea breaks. This was done daily, to keep them in line.

“Excellent. It will be ready on time for the play,” was her answer, with no hint of displeasure.

“Your trees got back to the conservatory in good form, I trust?” he asked the Hall ladies.

“Oh yes—a few leaves lost in the shipping, and the cold blast of air was not at all—but they are intact,” Miss Hall assured him.

“I see you have added a white flag to the flagstaff for our afternoon performance, Mrs.

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