There were several men and women standing about in costumes and stage makeup, talking among themselves in words and phrases that were unique and exclusive to their profession.
“George was out on the apron, corpsing while we were working out the blocking. He had me so flummoxed that I didn’t know whether to go stage left or stage right,” a young woman was saying.
“Had it been me, I would have just given my exit line and stepped behind the backdrop,” a young man said, and they all laughed.
“Mr. Fitzhugh, this is Captain MacCallister,” the usher said, introducing Duff to an older, bald-headed man who was wearing square-rim glasses situated far down on his nose. He was looking at notes he had fastened to a clipboard.
“Ah, yes, Captain,” Mr. Fitzhugh said. “Mr. MacCallister was hoping you would come. If you would wait here, sir, I shall summon him.”
“Thank you,” Duff said. He moved over to one side of the room, providing some separation between himself and the players in costume and makeup. He noticed that one or two of the young women seemed to be paying special attention to him, and he looked away self-consciously.
Suddenly all the conversation stopped.
“Mr. MacCallister, can I do something for you?” someone asked.
Duff looked up, thinking the person was talking to him, but saw that they were talking to another person, a man who was in his early fifties and carrying himself with great dignity. Like the others, he was in costume and makeup.
“No, thank you, relax, relax,” the man said. Spying Duff, a broad smile spread across his face. “Cousin Duff, how good of you to come,” he said, extending his hand.
“It was good of you to invite me,” Duff replied, appreciative of the man’s firm grip. “You would be Cousin Andrew?”
“I am,” Andrew replied.
“Ma’am,” someone said and, as they had with Andrew, all stood in respectful silence as a very attractive woman, also in costume and makeup, came into the room.
“Sister, come and meet our Scottish kin,” Andrew called to her. “Cousin Duff, this is Rosanna.”
Rosanna stuck out her hand and Duff bowed his head slightly, then raised her hand to his lips for a kiss.
“Oh, my! How gallant!” Rosanna said. “Andrew, do pay attention to our young cousin, perhaps you will learn a thing or two.”
“Timothy?” Andrew said.
“Yes, m’laird?” the usher replied.
“Please take Mr. MacCallister to the orchestra, row five, center seat,” Andrew said. He smiled again at Duff. “I may have just sown the seeds of my own disaster. That is the best seat in the house. If I stink up the stage with a poor performance, there will be no hiding it from you. The play we are presenting tonight is called The Golden Fetter by Watts Phillips. I do hope you enjoy it.”
“Oh, I am certain that I will greatly enjoy the performance,” Duff replied.
When Duff was escorted with great pomp and circumstance to his seat in the theater, he was aware of the reaction of the others when he, a Highlander in the uniform of the Black Watch, took the best seat in the house.
“Who is he?”
“Perhaps a relative of the Queen?”
“He is someone of great importance, of that we can be certain.”
“Aye, he is wearing the Victoria Cross. That alone should be enough to warrant the best seat in the house.”
The lights in the theater dimmed, but were brightened on the stage. Before curtain rise, the sound of a storm was heard, and as the curtain drew up a flash of vivid lightning was seen, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Onstage was the interior of a village barber’s shop, fitted up with the usual paraphernalia.
Duff enjoyed all three acts of the melodrama, feeling a sense of pride in that his kinsmen were indeed the stars of the performance. After escaping many perils and dangers, Andrew and Rosanna were now the last two actors on the stage.
Andrew (as SIR GILBERT): Look up—look up, dearest! With his own hands he has broken the fetter, and you are mine now, (embraces her) you are mine!
Rosanna (as FLORENCE): (as her head sinks on his shoulder) Forever, Gilbert, forever.
The curtain came down to thunderous applause. Then it rose again so that the players could take their curtain call, in groups for the lesser players, then singly for the more principal roles. Finally Rosanna curtsied, then left the stage for Andrew, who bowed, then held out his hand to call Rosanna back so they could take the final bow together as, once more, the curtain descended.
Duff remained seated as the others in the audience began to exit the theater. He wasn’t entirely sure of what was expected of him now. Was his only obligation to come and see the show? Should he go back to the green room and wait? Or would that be too presumptuous on his part?
Not until he was the only person remaining in the auditorium did he stand and start to leave. That was when Timothy appeared from the same side door Duff had gone through when he visited the green room.
“Captain MacCallister?” Timothy called.
“Aye?”
“Mr. MacCallister’s compliments, sir, and he asks if you will join him in his dressing room.”
Duff followed Timothy along the same path he had traversed earlier, but this time they passed through the green room, which was even more crowded now than it had been before. All the cast and the stagehands were gathered there, babbling in excitement as they came down from the exhilaration of the production. Timothy led him through the green room and down a long hall to one of two doors, each of which had a star just above the name. The sign on one door read: MISS MACCALLISTER. The sign on the other door read: MR. MACCALLISTER. It was upon this door that Timothy knocked.
“Mr. MacCallister? It is Timothy, sir. I have Captain MacCallister with me.”
The door opened and Andrew stood just on the other side, his face white and shining with some sort of cleansing lotion.
“Thank you, Timothy. Come in, Duff, come in,” Andrew said. “I shall be but a few minutes longer. Then perhaps you would honor Rosanna and me by allowing us to take you out to dinner.”
“No,” Duff said.
“No?” Andrew had a surprised expression on his face.
Duff smiled. “I was your guest for the wonderful play. Now I insist that you and Rosanna be my guests for dinner.”
Andrew smiled and nodded his head. “We would be delighted,” he said.
Duff watched in fascination as Andrew sat down at his dressing table and, using a towel, wiped his face clean of the cleansing lotion. Gone, also, were the dark lines that had been around his eyes, and the dark outline of his lips.
“You must wonder what kind of man would put makeup on his face,” Andrew said, glancing at Duff in his mirror.
“No, I . . .”
Andrew’s laugh interrupted his response. “I know, I know, my own brothers tease me about it. But one must outline the eyes and the mouth when onstage for, next to the voice, those are the most important instruments in an actor’s profession. With them, we exhibit surprise”—Andrew opened wide his eyes and mouth—“anger”—he squinted his eyes and drew his mouth into a snarl—“sadness”—he managed to make his eyes droop and his lips curl down—“and happiness.” Again his eyes were wide, though not quite as wide, and his mouth spread into a wide smile.
Duff laughed, and applauded. “That is very good,” he said.
“Yes, you could see it because you are here with me, in the same room and but a few feet away. Onstage, however, the audience member in the farthest row from the stage must be able to see those same reactions, and in order to do that, we must use makeup.”
“I can see how that would be so,” Duff said.