Lies in Lashbrook 3

 

 

Chapter 3

 

“So, how much train traffic goes through here?” asked Jeff.

“Not a lot. Fred doesn’t have a deputy; he turns out in his pyjamas for the milk train and goes home for breakfast before the mainline trains into Oxford and London for those going off to work in one of the cities,” Alexander explained. “There’s a few during the day for shopping, and the return trains. There’s a late night train back from the city as well, for those who have gone up for shows, but whichever ticket clerk or ticket collector is on duty calls for Fred after six in the evening if needed.  Fred coerced the Busby brothers and Les Edgington into the chorus, the ones who do the night shift managed to escape.”

Jeff laughed.

“How many people live in Lashbrook?” he asked.

“Around two hundred and fifty,” said Alexander. “And to be honest, the players only account for about one in ten. The farmers and farmworkers don’t have time or energy, though they like to come and see the show.  And of course, the players don’t meet on Tuesdays.”

“Why not?” asked Jeff.

“Scouting for boys and Girl-Guides,” said Alexander. “I’m avoiding being roped in. Mapp, the local bobby, runs Scouts, with help from the vicar and Oliver Oliver, who is part valet to the vicar and part sexton and don’t ask questions about the alcoholic smells from the crypt where he distils the dregs of the communion wine. I don’t ask questions and he tells me no lies. He’s mostly harmless and not worth running in. He hasn’t blown the church up yet, anyway.”

“Optimist,” said Jeff. “No, he’s no large scale criminal.  And in the country, in a crypt surrounded by a churchyard, likely enough nobody is going to complain.”

Alexander released the breath he had not realised he was holding; Jeff could be strait-laced about things like alcohol violations, but plainly even Jeff could see that Oliver was harmless. It was up to young Mapp to warn Oliver if his hooch brewing became a problem.

“There’s going to be a meeting in the village hall, which is the Nissan hut over there, this afternoon,” said Alexander.  “You’ll meet most of the other players then.”

 

 

Fred Chaffinch took control of the meeting.

“All here as could come? Good, good,” he said.  “Oliver’s dropped out of Koko, as some of you know, but he always was a bit flaky, so I’m not displeased. Miss Thripp is stepping up as Katisha, because she’s a real trooper, leaving Mr. Armitage as Koko.”

“He’s a newcomer, can he cope with changing roles?” asked a girl in the chorus.

“Bless you, Maud, Mr. Armitage knows every word Mr. Gilbert ever wrote,” said Fred. “Here, Mr. A, you show them.”

Alexander obediently sang,

“Taken from a county jail

By a set of curious chances

Liberated then on bail

On my own recognisances.

Wafted by a fav’ring gale

As one sometimes is in trances

To a height that few can scale

Save by long and weary dances;

So incredible a tale

That may rank with most romances.”

 “Adventurous, not incredible,” said Fred. “Carry on!”

Alexander obediently sang the partial repeat as the chorus joined in, to

“Surely never had a male so adventurous a tale!”

The chorus carried on,

“Defer, defer, to the lord high executioner!” to the end of the piece as Alexander acknowledged their bows and deference with a show of some deprecation.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Armitage, I like that.  Playing Koko as a modest man with much to be modest about,” said Fred.  “Any other objections?”

There were none, but a few mutters were made about Miss Thripp as Katisha.

“Thank you, I am saving my voice and anticipating it improving,” said Miss Thripp. “And if it does not, then I shall play the lack of vocals for comedy value.”

“And that’s a real trooper for you,” boomed Fred. “We’ll have to shorten Koko’s kimono; Oliver is even taller than Mr. A.”

“I think I should be Alexander to the troupe," said Alexander. “He’s sufficiently taller than me that I could play it into the modest man concept, occasionally tripping on it, literally occupying the robes of a greater man.”

“If you can do that without tripping seriously, Mr. Armitage, it should get a laugh or two,” said Fred, pleased.

“Pooh-bah might stand on the back of it from time to time; Sam and I can sort something out between us,” said Alexander. If the wine did not work, at least other comedic figures would cut the cruel exposure of Miss Thripp.

“Who’s playing Pitti-Sing and Peep-bo?” asked Maud.

“It won’t be you, Haddock, you’re too reedy,” said another girl.  Maud flushed as Alexander placed her in his mind as the girl in the chippie, likely Braithwaite’s daughter. Calling her ‘Haddock’ seemed rather unkind, but young people nowadays could be very cruel.

“Now then!” said Fred. “Maggie and Emma Squires are understudies until Miss Henderson and her friend can come. Some people have to work, you know.”

“At weekends?” asked Maud.

“She’s a trainee archaeologist,” said Alexander. “And digging goes on when the weather is fine. Both are practising and will be here.”

“Why are we bringing in outsiders?” asked Maud with a whine to her voice. “This is the Lashbrook players, not the Lashbrook player and some posh Londoners.”

“You appear to be labouring under a misapprehension, Miss Braithwaite,” said Alexander. “Ida and Gladys were born and raised in Lashbrook; the Hendersons are an old family, as are the Prices, if not so elevated. Surely you were a Girl Guide with Ida Henderson and Gladys Price?”

“Oh!” said Maud. “Yes, of course. But you…”

“I was a friend of Basil Henderson,” said Alexander. “I know he painted scenery for the players; Ida has his talent and will doubtless also help out.”

Maud subsided.

“Damn fine artist, Basil Henderson,” said Fred Chaffinch.  “I have a sketch he made of me as the Mikado from the first time we did it, only with my stationmaster’s hat, making Mr. David Henderson ride on the buffer.” He looked suddenly embarrassed, but Alexander laughed.

“David and I get on better the less we have to be together,” he said.

There were several more or less supressed sniggers.

“Him, he’s stuck up,” said Maud.

“Somewhat, but more than that, he has trouble expressing himself,” said Alexander.

“Well, you would stick up for him, you being gentry too,” said Maud.

“I have to stick up for him because he’s my friend’s brother, and Basil would expect me to look out for him,” said Alex. “Shall we get on with the rehearsal?”

Many people needed their lines and lyrics in front of them still, but they had an idea of the shape of the operetta, and the rehearsal went well. Dan Reckitt, the village postman, sang the part of Nanki-poo very well, and being slender of build fit very well with being a ‘thing of rags and patches.’ He played his own guitar with considerable skill, having disguised it with a square of cardboard over it to look more like a samisen, which he had painted black with a ferocious golden dragon wrapping around it as decoration.

“They take it all very seriously,” said Jeff.

“Oh, yes, totally,” said Alexander. “Sometimes a little too seriously, I suspect; Fred makes amusing stories, but occasionally I believe egos can flare with some need for smoothing things over.”

He was up next for a duet with Miss Thripp. He approached her, cautiously, did a prat-fall, and fell to his knees in front of her.

“He thinks he can impress me,” said Miss Thripp, from behind her fan, improvising. “But I will not forget he robbed me of my bridegroom!” she returned to script. “Let him kneel!”

“Good! Good! We’ll keep that in,” said Fred.

Miss Thripp’s voice faltered as she was singing the last number, ‘There is beauty in the bellow of the blast,’ which coincided with the arrival of a young man who bore a slight resemblance to Miss Thripp, but whose chin was much weaker.

“My poor aunt! But it was a brave effort,” he said, coming forward as she whispered to a finish.

“Oh, Edgar, dear, have you come to walk me home? How kind you are,” said Miss Thripp.

“Why, I brought my car to collect you, Aunt Betty,” said Edgar.

“There was no need for that, dear boy, I’m not an invalid and it’s scarcely a step,” said Miss Thripp.

“Why, it’s fully a quarter of a mile, and the night air cannot be good for your throat,” said Edgar.

“Ah, you are kind to me,” said Miss Thripp, “but another time, do just walk over; I don’t want to become feeble.”

Edgar laughed.

“You hearty country folk!” he said. “But I will do my best to look out for your interests, Aunt Betty, you deserve a bit of cossetting!”

“So kind,” murmured Miss Thripp.

“I wonder why I want to knock his teeth down his throat?” Alexander muttered to Jeff.

“I don’t know, but he affects me the same way too,” Jeff replied. “Though he looks to me to be everything I thought you were; a privileged young wastrel with expensive tastes and no visible means of support.”

“If you ever thought I was like that, I’m not surprised you loathed me,” muttered Alexander. “Oh, well, he may want to privately laugh at Miss Thripp, but five ‘ll get you ten my mother’s jollop will sort her out completely.”

“I never bet on certainties,” said Jeff.

Miss Thripp left, and Alex drove Jeff back to Heywood Hall, which was the proper name of the Tudor mansion.

“I’ve half a mind to change the name to Copper’s Cottage or something,” laughed Alexander, as they turned in the drive.

“If it was at the seaside, you could call it ‘The Copper’s Beach,’ and have people asking plaintively about copper beech trees,” laughed Jeff.

“Oh, very good. I must purchase a beach hut if nothing else.”

“If I know you, you’ll get a beach hut which is out of the league of the working man’s six by eight shed full of fishing gear and waders,” said Jeff.

“More than likely,” said Alexander. “Some pretentious bungalow bigger than most houses in the most modern style, which means the roof will leak, and the winter’s blast will shatter all the outsize windows, and I will smile as if the cost of upkeep doesn’t break my heart and murmur about the need to be modern, and direct your attention to the sleek lines and modern materials.”

“Ass,” said Jeff, amicably. “Considering I’ve heard you animadverting on your brother-in-law to-be’s place and referring to it as ‘the sewerage station run mad,’ I can’t see that.”

“I like old houses,” said Alexander. “And here’s our lovely old house and it’s lovely comptroller,” he added, raising his hat to Mary, as she met them at the door.

“Oh, get on with you, Mr. Alexander,” said Mary.  “I’ve got some nice cutlets for dinner; do you mind if it’s served soon? Ruth doesn’t like Milliemolliemegsie to sit up too late, and you did say she might join you for dinner.”

“Oh, of course, delighted to fit in with you,” said Alexander. “We must change – well, I must, I’ve been throwing myself around as Koko, and I smell. No reason for Jeff to change so if I can have fifteen minutes to wash and scramble into clean duds….”

“No need to scramble, sir!  I can have it on the table in half an hour.”

“Splendid,” said Alexander. “Er, unusual name for your granddaughter, wot?”

“Her name is Millicent Mary Margaret, sir, and it sort of grew from  that,” said Mary, blushing.

“Milliemolliemegsie, I see. I’ll try and remember.”

“She answers to Millie,” said Mary.

 

 

Half an hour later, pink and scrubbed, Alexander came into the small dining room, where a pretty girl was adjusting a bib on a mutinous little girl. The young woman was dark, with a neat figure, and her child had red hair.

“Hello!” said Alexander. “Miss Fringford, and the younger Miss Fringford, I assume; now, I’m guessing you aren’t used to a bib with nursery tea, young lady, but Mama thinks it a good idea when dining in public, as it were.”

“It did seem like a good idea, sir,” said Ruth. “And I answer to ‘Ruth,’ sir, not being gentry. And Milliemolliemegsie is honoured to be addressed at all.”

“Well, if it doesn’t offend you,” said Alexander. “Miss Millie must make up her own mind.”

Milliemolliemegsie regarded him for a moment then giggled.

“You may call me ‘Miss Millie,’ she said, grandly.

“Miss Millie it is, then,” said Alexander. “You know, I shall tuck my napkin in my collar but napkins are a bit harder to control; so suppose you put up with a bib while you get used to us, and then Mama can teach you to use a napkin?”

The child regarded him solemnly.

“All right,” she said.

Ruth drew a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“She’s that Thripp fellow’s child, isn’t she?” said Alexander, regarding Millie. “At least she’s inherited most of your looks.”

Ruth blushed.

“I… he made me think he planned to marry me,” she said, defensively. “We were both very young.”

“You can’t, either of you have been older than about seventeen,” said Alexander. “I don’t judge; except that a true gentleman does not behave like that. I already dislike the fellow, so it’s another mark against him. I expect Miss Thripp would like to have time in her great niece’s life.”

“She has been all that is good,” said Ruth. “She thinks him a good man, though; I have not told her how he laughed at me and asked how I thought a gentleman would marry a serving wench.”

“What a tick he is!” said Alexander. “Well! Let us eat; Mary and Cambell come bearing viands.”