"A born actress," Feltheryn said, and rumpled Lempchin's hair before turning his attention to his patron.
"I have heard," Molin said, without preamble and with embarrassment, "that Rosanda will be attending the theater. Could you keep me advised of the nights you expect her, so that I can absent myself?"
ACT TWO
As if by divine edict (and in Sanctuary, it seemed the only way that it could happen) things began to go well. Vomistritus's broadsides stayed up, but his poisonous commentary failed to cut too deeply into the theater's receipts. Those who took the critic at face value and stayed away were balanced by those who were intrigued by his acerbic pen into coming to see what could possibly be so bad.
Lalo delivered final sketches for The Chambermaid's Wedding and they proved to be his most inspired designs to date. The flowery pergola for the wedding scene was of surpassing loveliness, and construction of the costumes and properties was begun with much enthusiasm by all concerned.
Lady Sashana proved not only beautiful and enthusiastic, but an apt pupil as well. Glisselrand actually blushed when the disguised Schoolgirl sang her the serenade, and that was no small tribute from an actress who had played the part more than fifty times.
As for Myrtis: she was pleased to contribute the talents of some of her younger protegees to the production, and the girls themselves were pleased and delighted (and amused) to be playing the Chambermaid's virgin bridesmaids.
"The only problem," Myrtis commented, "is that song in which they sing about being pure and chaste. Some of their customers may be in the audience, and if the poor men laugh, their wives will figure it out!"
Lempchin discovered that his new dog could leam any trick with the greatest of ease. It was not long before he had persuaded Glisselrand to sew a fluffy collar for the mutt, and not much more time before Benny had got a role in the show, doing tricks for the Countess in the wedding scene.
Master Chollandar stopped by the theater to deliver some glue and related how Vomistritus had demanded half the enormous payment for exclusive rights to the solvent returned on the basis of the one unauthorized use in freeing Rosanda, Rounsnouf, and Lempchin.
"I argued with him," said Chollandar, "but in the end I figured I would have to give him what he wanted. And that's not so bad, because it was really a lot of money that he paid. But I made him print, on each broadside, that the glue was dangerous and might not be removable. And I told him that if he didn't print the message on the poster, I would not be responsible for the consequences."
"Did he accept that?" asked Feltheryn.
"Oh, yes," said Chollandar. "I think he enjoys the idea of spreading something dangerous around Sanctuary. It makes him feel sinister, maybe."
Near the closing of The Falling Star a small purse appeared on the table in the greenroom, directly after the performance. Although Lempchin did not remember admitting her, a note within the purse identified the gold it contained as a "small" gift from Ischade; and Glisselrand commented that she was happy the dear shy woman had not only fallen upon better times, but, it seemed from the size of the gift, now reveled in them.
Glisselrand finished the red, purple, and orange quilt, and one day when rehearsals had gone especially well presented it to Sashana: who accepted it gracefully and in the spirit in which the gift was intendedSashana then asked Evenita (in private) if she had anything for a headache, and Evenita, who also possessed a quilt, rushed to an apothecary for some of the little leaves whose crushed essence was palliative for eyestrain.
The Falling Star closed, there was the usual closing-night party for the cast and a few friends, then the serious business of preparation for the next play began. Old sets were torn down, wood and canvas cannibalized, and the theater rang with repeated speeches and reeked with the smell of paint.
Lowan Vigeles and Lady Rosanda sent their regrets that they had not managed to see the recently closed play, but with their regrets they sent a request for the best seats in the house for opening night of The Chambermaid's Wedding. This presented a problem, as the best seats in the house were those in the royal box, and they would surely be occupied by Prince Kadakithis and the Beysa Shupansea, who, Rounsnouf assured Feltheryn, were not the favorite people of the Rankan household at Land's End.
Feltheryn asked Glisselrand's advice in the matter (which was his usual procedure in such thorny circumstances) and she quickly composed a note to Lowan Vigeles expressing regret that the best seats were those in the royal box, which had been flocked at the expense of the prince and the Beysa, who would most surely be in attendance.
"Do you think it wise to say that?" Feltheryn asked as he read the note.
"Read on," his lady commanded.
The note further expressed regret that the theater did not have a second box of equivalent splendor, and noted that in Ranke the company's theater had possessed three such boxes: the royal one at the center, and the two at the sides of the stage which allowed the attendance of visiting dignitaries and guests of the company's director. The note then politely asked whether Lowan Vigeles would like to have the royal box on the second night or a lesser box on opening night, and appended the opinion that many attendees preferred the second night, as the initial nervousness of the performance by then had dissipated.
Feltheryn smiled.
"I see you are angling for more pomp and nocking," he said; and Glisselrand grinned.
"It couldn't hurt, my dear," she said.
Rehearsals continued, the costumes and sets were finished, and in no time at all it was opening night. Lowan Vigeles and Rosanda elected the royal box on the second night, Molin Torchholder accompanied the prince and the Beysa for the first night, and everything went as smoothly as melon with custard. In fact, by the end of the first act the impossible seemed to be taking place.
"Yes, that's him!" said Rounsnouf, who was playing the servant who turned out to be the father of the bridegroom, who was played by Snegelringe. "That laugh is unmistakable. Look out through the peephole' You see, that big, fat, ugly man? That's Vomistritus, and he actually seems to be enjoying himself!"
Feltheryn looked, saw, and had to agree that Vomistritus was big, fat, and ugly. His face was like a cantaloupe about to spoil. He had sagging chins aplenty and a grayish tone to his skin that made one wonder if he coupled regularly with corpses. His stubby fingers rested wetly on the rail and his bulgy eyes were bloodshot. His mouth was slack; Feltheryn wondered if he drooled as well. His teeth were snaggly when he smiled, and his smile was not unlike that of a shark. He wore loose robes of gooseturd green that failed to conceal his corpulence.
The young woman who sat next to him was pretty, and obviously paid for her participation.
"Suppose he turns out to be an honest critic?" asked Lady Sashana, stunning in tight blue satin breeches and a white brocade coat.
"An honest critic?" asked Snegelringe, standing close to her but as yet unable to affect her with his charms (she knew his hairline was receding under the wig).
"Yes," said Sashana. "Suppose he is actually doing what he thinks he is doing. It may be that tomorrow morning we will awake and find a good review glued all over town."
"Such things have occurred, my child," said Glisselrand, "but rarely. I don't think it is that critics go to the theater hoping to see a bad play so much as that they have seen so many plays they are numbed to the experience. I suspect they are like courtesans: always hoping for the exceptional and most of the time disappointed."