A Mummers' Play Read Free

watched Torlinghurst fill with strangers until no peaceful corner remained except his private suite. He didn’t feel able to hide there all the time and didn’t even want to, for they were a ponderously decorated and gloomy set of rooms.
    So, bowing to the inevitable, Jack moved among the crowds and made the acquaintance of his extended family, hoping against hope that some of them would prove entertaining. But the older people wanted to preach to him, and the young ones seemed insufferably callow. Those of the middle years talked of nothing but children, politics, and the price of corn.
    He had survived, however, until tonight, when the whole lot of them decided they had been put on Earth to entertain one another. The past hours had been an endless amateur performance.
    And worse was to come.
    He’d just learned that some of his guests were rehearsing a play to be performed on Twelfth Night. He’d not even been aware that Torlinghurst had a theater. Now he knew it did, complete with proscenium arch, lighting, and seating for fifty.
    Who in his right mind would construct such a torture chamber?
    His damned cousin, that was who. The last duke had apparently so loved this Christmas gathering he’d developed it to this horrendous state.
    Adora Beaufort-Chilworthy finished her screeching and simpering at him. He stirred himself to clap, being careful to show no particular enthusiasm.
    It had quickly become obvious that all his more distantly related unmarried female guests knew exactly what they wanted for Christmas—him on his knees, offering hand and heart.
    Or to be precise, his title and fortune. Any and all body parts were clearly irrelevant.
    He’d become very adept at avoiding kissing boughs.
    Now Priscilla Beaufort-Gore-Peebles rose with a superiority that reminded him forcibly of a camel, and progressed toward the pianoforte. . . .
    But then, blessing of blessings, a raucous noise broke the genteel quiet. With any luck, Napoleon had escaped from Elba and invaded England!
    “The mummers!” squealed one excitable girl and ran to a window. The younger members poured after, pushing and exclaiming.
    Great-aunt Caroline sniffed. “Stone-drunk as usual.”
    “Sounds marvelous.”
    She stared at him. “If you think that noise sounds marvelous, no wonder you didn’t appreciate dear Adora’s performance.”
    Jack didn’t explain his meaning. He had an excuse to escape and, like any experienced military man, took it. But at the door his way was blocked by his aweinspiring butler, Youngblood, bearing a bowl of coins in front of his stately paunch.
    “We pass round a collection plate?” Jack asked. “Things are looking up!”
    Youngblood’s full lips moved upward a fraction. “Your grace is pleased to joke. Ha. Ha. No, your grace, these are the sixpenny pieces for you to give to the mummers.”
    “I toss them into the crowd?”
    “Not at all, your grace. That would encourage unruly behavior. You give one to each person along with a comment upon their singing or their costume.”
    On the floor below, the main doors opened and the rowdy singing abruptly grew in volume. “’Struth,” muttered Jack. “A favorable comment, I suppose.”
    But suddenly fond memories assailed him, memories of his youthful days when the costumed mummers had been an exciting part of Christmas, especially if they acted out the story of George and the Dragon.
    Since he clearly could not slip away, he threw off his bitter mood and grabbed the bowl. “Right. Everyone to the hall!” he declared in a voice that had carried over battlefields. “Let’s greet the mummers properly.”
    He grinned at his scandalized great-aunt and his sour-faced mother, neither of whom wished to get close to the lower orders. “Come along,
everyone.
That’s an order.”
    He’d tamed unruly battalions in his day and the tone still worked, even from behind a smile. The glittering company rose and followed him down the stairs to cram into the spacious