“And sho my love,” she said stentoriously to Mr. Clattercup’s girl friend, “I’ll go and find our fortune and return to claim you as my bride.”
So saying, she walked towards the right-hand side of the stage. As she did so, the stage started to revolve slowly and the moment he felt it move, Adrian knew he was doomed. It had never occurred to him to try Rosy out on the moving stage. Rosy woke out of her gin-soaked reverie to find the floor in some miraculous fashion moving backwards. She gave a small, slightly alarmed squeak and moved forward two or three paces.
“Stand still, you fool,” hissed Adrian, but by now the stage was revolving quite fast and Rosy, losing her head, started to run to keep up with it. The result was that she and Honoria reached the next scene simultaneously, and half way across the set Rosy overtook her. The Sultan, panic-stricken, was clutching the sides of his vehicle and wailing “Bloody ’ell, bloody ’ell, bloody ’ell,” in a mournful monotone that sounded like some curious form of prayer. The little man in charge of the massive levers that operated the stage completely lost his head at the sight of Rosy apparently running berserk, and threw the levers into reverse. The stage started to revolve in the opposite direction and Rosy, not to be outdone, turned adroitly to run with it. The result was that the shafts of the Sultan’s carriage snapped like match-sticks and the carriage performed a short but very elegant flight before it crashed down on the stage operator and the levers. Now everybody lost his head. The stage, apparently damaged by the application of the Sultan’s carriage to its mechanism, started to revolve faster and faster and Rosy ran faster and faster with it. She galloped through the desert scene, knocking palm trees in all directions, she shouldered her way through the market place, wrecking the stalls, she ran through the Sultan’s palace, knocking down several pieces of oriental lattice work and the pillar in which Adrian was trapped.
Honoria, who had at first attributed the movements of the stage to the quantity of drink she had consumed, now became panic-stricken and ran in the opposite direction to Rosy. The hushed and spell-bound audience were treated to three scenes in rapid succession, all of them containing Rosy and Honoria running ineffectually in opposite directions and achieving no result whatsoever. Adrian had managed to extricate himself from his pillar and started running after Rosy. The stage, living, up to its maker’s reputation, was by now travelling at some thirty miles an hour, and as it whirled round various looser props were whisked off. A member of the orchestra was hit by a palm tree and several bits of the Sultan’s palace crashed into the front row of stalls. Adrian’s pursuit of Rosy was hampered by the fact that periodically he would run full tilt into Honoria and by the time they had picked themselves up, Rosy would have got a fair lead on him. Up to now Mr. Clattercup had been standing in the wings paralysed with rage, but the sight of his principal boy, Rosy and Adrian indulging in what appeared to be a marathon race was too much for him. He leapt on to the revolving stage and grabbed Adrian as he passed.
“Stop her!” he roared at Adrian.
“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?” snarled Adrian, pushing him away and setting off once again in hot pursuit of Rosy. Clattercup, apoplectic with rage, seized a short, stout piece of wood that had once been part of the Sultan’s palace. He ran round the stage in the opposite direction to that taken by Adrian and, as Rosy appeared, lifted his weapon and hit her on the trunk. It was, to say the least, an unwise action. Rosy had been doing her best to keep up with what had suddenly become an extremely rapidly moving world and now here was a strange man beating her over the trunk with a large lump of wood. It took a lot of concentration to keep up with the stage, and she was not in any mood to have anything extraneous interfere with her task. So she simply picked up Mr. Clattercup and threw him into the orchestra pit where his sudden arrival knocked the orchestra leader unconscious for the second time, and disastrously damaged the drum and double bass.
Meanwhile, three stage hands had been making valiant attempts to remove both the Sultan and his vehicle from the machinery that controlled the stage, and at last they succeeded. However, their manipulation of the gears, though well intended, merely had the effect of making the stage revolve still faster. Rosy was now on the outer periphery of the stage and the increased speed shot her off it like a bullet from a gun. Fortunately, she was not aiming in the general direction of the audience when she went off, but crashed into the wings, bringing down curtains, ropes, pulleys, and six spot lights. So swift and complete was Rosy’s disappearance that Adrian ran twice through the remains of the Sultan’s palace, the desert scene and the market scene before he realised she was no longer on the stage. He then took a flying leap that landed him in the wings, and started searching frantically for her. The thought of her rampaging about the streets of the town was too awful to contemplate, and to his relief he ran her to earth in her stable, where she was standing trembling and out of breath, hopefully holding the empty gin bottle to her mouth. Adrian sank down on the bale of hay and put his head in his hands. Everything was ruined. Dimly he could hear the screams and shouts of the audience and the clank and wheeze of the ever more rapidly revolving stage. His hopes that Rosy could join the Thespian ranks of Mr. Clattercup’s company had now vanished, and not only this; he had also added one more crime to the list that he had committed since he inherited her. He wished with all his soul that Samantha were there to comfort him. Suddenly Ethelbert appeared, panting for breath, his yashmak torn and the jewel missing from his navel.
“Darling boy,” he gasped, “what an absolute tragedy. I know it wasn’t your fault or dear Rosy’s, but I think you’re going to have a very hard time persuading Clattercup of this. He’s recovered consciousness, so I suggest that you both simply fly.”
“What’s the use?” said Adrian dully. “Where could we fly to anyway?”
“Dream child,” said Ethelbert in agony, “don’t be silly. Get out of here while you have still got a chance. If you get down to the docks right away, you might just catch the Queen back to the mainland. Don’t worry about your things, I’ll send them later.”
“But what’s the point?” said Adrian miserably. “I might just as well stay here and be arrested.”
“Listen,” said Ethelbert. “You might at least have some thought for that elephant.”
“Why should I?” said Adrian bitterly. “She’s never had any thought for me.”
“Do you want her shot?” enquired Ethelbert.
“Shot!” said Adrian startled. “They wouldn’t shoot her, would they? I mean, it wasn’t her fault.”
“They will shoot her,” said Ethelbert pressing his advantage dramatically. “Probably at dawn, unless you get out of here right away.”
“But that’s iniquitous,” said Adrian. “They can’t possibly think for one minute that she was responsible . . .”
“Will you stop arguing and get out of here?” hissed Ethelbert.
“Yes,” said Adrian.
He rushed and opened the doors of the scenery store, then, grasping the top of Rosy’s warm ear in his hand, he urged her forward at a brisk walk.
“Good-bye my love,” said Ethelbert waving extravagantly. “I’ll send your things on. Don’t worry.”
So, leaving the wrecked theatre behind them, vibrant with the noise of pandemonium, Rosy and Adrian made their way swiftly through the deserted streets to the docks.
17. THE APPROACH OF THE LAW
By the time they reached the docks, the excitement and bustle had made the gin take a firm hold on Rosy and, uttering little squeaks of pleasure to herself, she staggered along by Adrian’s side, occasionally tripping over her own feet. Adrian was beyond caring. All he wanted was to get Rosy on board the ship, and it was with considerable relief that he saw that the Sploshport Queen had not left.