So, after a doubtful glance, did the entire company and the people in the stalls, including Emily.
Gaston stood to attention throughout.
Peregrine wiped the tears from his face, walked up to Gaston, put his arm around his shoulders, and took the risk of his life.
“Gaston, my dear man,” he said, “you have taught us how to meet these ridiculous pranks. Thank you.”
Gaston rumbled.
“What did you say?”
“Honi soit qui mal y pense. ”
“Exactly,” agreed Peregrine and wondered if it was really an appropriate remark. “Well, everybody,” he said. “We don’t know who played these tricks and for the time being we’ll let them rest. Will you all turn your backs for a moment?”
They did so. He whipped off the lid, wrapped the head in its cloak, took it backstage, and returned.
“Right!” he said. “Places, everybody. Are you ready, Sir Dougal, or would you like to break?”
“I’ll go on.”
“Good. Thank you. From where we left off, please.”
“Our duties and the pledge,” said the prompter. And they went on to the end of the play.
When it was all over and he had taken his notes and gone through the bits that needed adjustment, Peregrine made a little speech to his cast.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “You have behaved in a civilized and proper manner like the professionals you are. If, as I believe, the perpetrator of these jokes is among you, I hope he or she will realize how silly they are and we’ll have no more of them. Our play is in good heart and we go forward with confidence, my dears. Tomorrow morning. Everyone at ten, please. In the rehearsal room.”
Peregrine had a session with the effects and lighting people that lasted for an hour, at the end of which they went off, satisfied, to get their work down on paper. The stage was now patched with daylight. Sheets of painted plywood were being carried in from the workshop. Workmen shouted and whistled.
“Come on, Em,” he said. “You’ve had more entertainment than we bargained for, haven’t you?”
“I have indeed. You handled them beautifully.”
“Did I? Good. Hullo, here’s William. What are you doing, young man? Emily, this is William Smith.”
“William, I very much enjoyed your performance,” said Emily, shaking his hand.
“Did you?” said William. “I’m waiting for my mum, Mr. Jay, but” — a vivid flush mounted on his face — “but… I wanted to speak to you about — about — ” He looked at Emily.
“About what?” Peregrine asked.
“About the heads. About the person who’s done it. About everyone saying it’s the sort of thing kids do. I didn’t do it. Really, I didn’t. I think it’s silly. And frightening. Awfully frightening,” William whispered. The red receded and a white-faced little boy stared at them. His eyes filled with tears.
“William!” Emily cried out. “Don’t worry. They are only plastic mock-ups. Nothing to be afraid of. Pretend ghosts. William, never mind. Mr. Sears made them.” She held out her arms. He hung back and then walked, shamefaced, into her embrace. She felt his heart beat and his trembling.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Jay,” he muttered and sniffed.
Emily held out her hand to Peregrine. “Hanky,” she mouthed. He gave her his handkerchief.
“Here you are. Have a blow.” William blew and caught his breath. She waggled her head at Peregrine, who said: “It’s all right, William. You didn’t do it.” And walked away.
“There you are! Now you’re in the clear, aren’t you?”
“If he means it.”
“He never, ever, says things he doesn’t mean.”
“Doesn’t he? Super,” said William and fetched a dry sob.
“So that’s that, isn’t it?” He didn’t answer. “William,” Emily said. “Are you really frightened of the heads? Quite apart from anyone thinking you did it. Just between ourselves.”
He nodded. “I can’t look at them,” he whispered. “Much less touch them. They’re awful.”
“Would they be if you’d made one? You know. It’s a long business. You make a mold in plaster of Mr. Barrabell’s face and he makes a fuss and says you’re stifling him and he won’t keep his mouth open. And at last, when you’ve got it and it’s dried, you pour a thin layer of some plastic stuff into it and wait till that dries, and then the hardest part comes,” said Emily, hoping she’d got it vaguely right. “You’ve got to separate the two and bob’s your uncle. Well — something like that. Broadly speaking.”
“Yes.”
“And you see it in all its stages and finally you’ve got to paint it and add hair and red paint for blood and so on, and it’s rather fun, and you made it frightening, but you know it’s just you being rather clever with plaster and plastic and paint.”
“That’s like the chorus of a song — ‘With plaster and plastic and paint,’ ” said William.
“ ‘I’m producing a perfect phenomenon,’ ” said Emily. “So it is. You go on.”
“ ‘I’m making things look what they ain’t,’ ” said William. “Your turn. I bet you can’t get a rhyme for ‘phenomenon,’ ” and gave another dry sob.
“You win. When’s your mama coming for you?”
“Pretty soon, I should think. She’s buying our supper. It’s her afternoon off.”
“Well. You can wait here with me. Mr. Jay’s got stuck into something up there. Have you heard how he came to restore this theatre?”
“No,” said William. “I don’t know anything about the theatre except it’s meant to be rather grand to get a job in it.”
“Well,” said Emily, “come sit down and I’ll tell you.”
And she told him how Peregrine, a struggling young author-director, came into the wrecked Dolphin and fell into a bomb hole on the stage and was rescued from it and got the job of restoring the theatre and being made a member of the board.
“Even now, it’s a bit like a fairy tale,” she said.
“A nice one.”
“Very nice.”
They sat in companionable silence, watching the men working onstage.
“You go to a drama school, don’t you?” Emily said after a pause.
“The Royal Southwark Drama School. It’s a proper school. We learn all the usual things and theatre as well.”
“How long have you been going to it?”
“Three years. I was the youngest kid there.”
“And you like it?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m learning karate and how to fence. I’m going to be an actor, you know.”
“Are you?”
“Of course,” he said calmly.
The door at front-of-house opened and his mother looked in. He turned and saw her. “Here’s my mum,” he said. “I’d like you to meet her if that’s all right. Would it be all right?”
“I’d like to meet her, William.”
“Super,” he said. “Excuse me.” He edged past her and ran up the aisle. Emily stood up and turned around. “It’s all right, Mum,” he said. “Mrs. Jay said it is. Come on.”
Emily said: “Hullo, Mrs. Smith. Do come in. I am so pleased to meet you,” and held out her hand. “I’m Emily Jay,” she said.
“I’m afraid my son’s rather precipitous,” said Mrs. Smith. “I’ve just called to collect him. I do know outsiders shouldn’t walk into theatres as if they were bus stops.”
“William’s your excuse. He’s our rising actor. My husband thinks he’s very promising.”