After the Fire Read Free

week.
    Female voices spilled from the open door of the Women’s Shift. As Betsy and Jane entered, an older woman, a hireling who was playing Third Witch, looked round. ‘Mistress, can you help me keep this headgear from falling over my eyes?’
    As Betsy helped the woman secure her hat, Jane brought her a small mug. ‘Take some Hungary water,’ she said. ‘You’ll need a restorative before you cast your spells.’
    The door opened and the youngest member of the company, Louise Hawker the tiring-maid, entered, looking flustered.
    ‘Louise!’ Jane threw the girl a pained look. ‘You promised to mend Lady MacDuff’s gown, yet it’s still torn. Now there’s no time to do anything but pin it.’
    Louise blinked. She was a frightened little creature, not made for the hurly-burly of backstage life. Yet she was a good seamstress and a hard worker, who had even won the grudging respect of Aveline Hale. Just now, however, she looked not merely nervous, but fearful.
    ‘Your pardon, mistress,’ she answered. ‘I’ll do it at once. I got distracted.’
    ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Betsy asked, still attending to Third Witch. ‘You look as if you’ve seen Banquo’s ghost!’
    ‘Well, perhaps you’ll not wonder at it, when you hear what I’ve just heard,’ Louise replied. ‘There’s bad news from Covent Garden. Remember Long Ned, the African? He’s dead!’
    A silence fell, so that Betterton’s voice could be heard all the way from the stage: ‘ Behold, look! How say you ?’
    ‘Dead!’ Jane looked shocked, as did the others. Everyone knew Long Ned, the handsome ex-slave from the Indies, who worked as an attendant in the men’s bagnio – the public bathhouse. Ned had formerly helped out at the old Duke’s Theatre as a scene-man, and, if truth be told, had earned something of a reputation as one who was sought out by certain wealthy ladies for purposes of private pleasure.
    ‘How did you learn of it?’ Betsy asked.
    ‘Mister Prout and Mister Hill were at the bagnio when it happened,’ Louise answered. ‘They’ve just come in. They say Ned dropped right to the floor, without warning. Within minutes he could neither move nor speak – then he was dead!’
    There were more reactions, but most of them were muted. James Prout, the Company’s dancing-master, was a regular customer at the bathhouse. Julius Hill was an actor who had recently joined the Duke’s Company, taking small roles. Since he was playing the Doctor in Macbeth he was not needed until late in the play, so would have passed the early part of the afternoon at his leisure. Neither man was given to spreading empty rumours, and hence the report must be true.
    ‘Well, Long Ned will certainly be a loss to the bagnio – and an even greater one to some of our sex!’ a young actress observed in a shrill voice. There were one or two sniggers, but Jane Rowe frowned at the woman.
    ‘That he will, mistress,’ she said. ‘But some of us valued him as a friend. He had his failings, what man doesn’t? Yet he was kind and gentle, which are rare enough qualities in Covent Garden!’
    The young actress pouted and turned away. But other heads were nodding. Jane moved off to finish her dressing, while Louise Hawker took a pincushion and set to work on Lady MacDuff’s gown. Gradually, normal hubbub resumed. The news of Long Ned’s death, Betsy thought, would provide entertainment about Covent Garden and the western suburbs for a day or two, then fade as quickly as the memories of her performance as First Witch. Such was the nature of the world she inhabited. And though she loved acting, there were times when she wondered whether there might be some less fickle activity that would suit her. She sighed, and thought upon her opening lines for the next scene.
    Meanwhile from the stage, Macbeth’s voice floated up: They say blood will have blood ….
    An hour later, the Duke’s Company took their bows to enthusiastic applause and left the stage. At once