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Prue made a very convincing boy in breeches and was cast as the heroine; Ella spoke the wicked stepmother’s lines with a cold, false sweetness; and Nicky was naturally the smooth villain Iachimo. The problem lay with Toby and Hugo. They both auditioned for Posthumus, the hero, and Hugo got the part, leaving Toby as Cloten, the clownish villain.
It made sense. Iachimo and Posthumus had a big fight scene, and two fencing Blues would make that spectacular. And Cloten was the wicked stepmother’s son, so Toby and Ella’s resemblance would be useful. It was a big role, an important one. But it wasn’t heroic by any means, and Toby had wanted to be the hero.
He was very gracious about it. Nicky was not. Nicky argued that Toby was a notably better actor than Hugo, who was handsome but wooden. He made the point forcefully and repeatedly, and he would not let it drop. Jem rather thought that if he were Toby, he’d want Nicky to let it drop.
It wasn’t that Nicky made his feelings obvious, precisely. He was flamboyant and mannered, of course, but so were many others, adopting poses of decadence and talking about Wilde and Beardsley, the Aesthetic movement and theYellow Book. Only, Jem saw him watching Toby, and it made something inside him crumple.
Nicky watched Toby, and Jem knew it because he watched Nicky.
He couldn’t help it. Nicky was so far from what Jem was. His lounging grace, his casual rudeness and the confident way he didn’t care, the flex and grip of his bare toes as he fenced. He was as far from Jem’s grasp as the moon, and would have been even if he didn’t always watch Toby. And in any case, Jem would leave Oxford and pursue a career—he thought, ambitiously, of the civil service, even Whitehall—and doubtless marry, because onedid, and even if he was one of the Feynsham set, one of the golden ones, there were some things that were unthinkable for the son of a Midlands factory hand.
But he watched Nicky all the same, and Nicky watched Toby, just as hopelessly.
Toby didn’t mind. He took Nicky as he was, and none of the others objected to Nicky’s postures either. Jem wasn’t even sure how much they thought it was a performance, and how much acting a truth. Except, once, a man in the buttery called Nicky a damned queer and Hugo and Aaron turned shoulder to shoulder on him: two large, muscular men moving with open menace, as though Nicky needed defending. So maybe they knew and didn’t care. Maybe Nicky was permitted to watch Toby as Aaron watched Ella—with a longing that was entirely permissible if it was understood to be impossible.
One couldn’t help one’s feelings. But one could certainly avoid making an embarrassing display of them, and, after Summoner Quad’s peace was shattered for a good half hour by a discussion between Nicky and Helmsley conducted with the lexicon of dramaturgy and the savagery of a pub fight, Hugo muttered in Toby’s ear, and Toby agreed that, really, he was very glad to take the part of Cloten. After all, his decapitation in Act Four would give him plenty of time to relax while the others sweated.
With that resolved, rehearsals proceeded. Jem, whose duties on the river were all-consuming, would have preferred the smallest possible part, preferably a single appearance, but Helmsley had seized on one of Cloten’s lines to the servant Pisanio—’Where is she, sir? Come nearer; No further halting’—and decided to interpret ‘halting’ as a description of Pisanio’s movements.
‘He’s an old soldier. Loyal to Posthumus not just as a servant but as comrade-in-arms, wounded in battle, all that. Hence your limp, you see.’
‘Do I have to explain my limp?’ Jem asked mildly.
‘Well, I’d think so, otherwise everyone will wonder what you’re doing hobbling about like that.’
‘I think it sounds jolly good,’ Toby said. ‘Suppose he had a crutch too? For the look of it?’
‘I think that’s an awfully good idea,’ Helmsley agreed, and there they were. Jem would have liked to argue, but they’d had enough of that for any production. And in truth, the idea of taking a decent part had its appeal, even if he wasn’t quite sure when he’d sleep between rowing, acting, and the odd spot of mathematics.You won’t get another chance, he told himself, and decided to get up earlier in the mornings.
The rehearsals went well. Hugo was handsome and charming. Nicky chilled the blood as the villain: louche, malicious, purring. Toby clowned wonderfully as Cloten, but insisted that he should not only be a fool.
‘He’s frightening,’ Toby said at one rehearsal. ‘An oaf, but a villain too, every bit as dangerous as Iachimo. I think we should see that in the scene with Pisanio.’ Toby cast an assessing eye over Jem. ‘Pisanio is a plebeian and a cripple, exactly the sort of person Cloten would bully. Look, Jem, play the scene, would you?’
He took the centre of the room, beckoning imperiously to Jem, who leaned on his crutch to listen. ‘Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter—I will not ask again. Close villain, I’ll have this secret from thy heart, or rip thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?—from whose so many weights of baseness cannot a dram of worth be drawn.’
‘Alas, my lord, how can she be with him? When was she missed? He is in Rome.’ As rehearsed, Jem turned and began to hobble away.
‘Where is she, sir?’ Toby bellowed, striding towards him. ‘Come nearer; no further halting. Satisfy me home what is become of her!’ His voice rose almost hysterically on the last words, and he lashed out, kicking Jem’s crutch from under him.
Jem didn’t see it coming. His full weight had been on the crutch, because he’d been on his feet for the best part of an hour now, and he fell hard, with a yell of shock and pain as he hit the floor.
‘God help us.’ Nicky was at his side, pulling him up to a sitting position. Jem wished Aaron were here. His foot was throbbing badly. ‘Are you all right? What the bloody hell, Toby?’
‘I’m awfully sorry.’ Toby dropped to a squat by him, looking shocked. ‘I’d no idea you’d go over like that. I didn’t mean to kick so hard.’
‘I’m sure that will mend his damned foot,’ Nicky snapped. ‘You utter bollox.’
‘I’m fine.’ Jem glared at them, both to hold back the tears of pain that prickled behind his eyes, and because he wanted to lean into Nicky’s arms and feel them close round him. ‘It’s fine. I just didn’t expect it.’
‘Well, that was what I intended.’ Toby grimaced. ‘I really am sorry, Jem. I thought if Cloten kicked over a cripple, it would be a shock to the audience.’
‘It certainly surprised me,’ Jem said, and Toby’s brilliant smile flashed out.
‘Exactly! And if we can work it so you go over, like that—then Cloten’s terrifying. Unpredictable. The audience will believe his threats.’
‘And see why Pisanio agrees to do as he says, I suppose.’ Jem’s voice still sounded shaky in his own ears, but he was not,not, going to make a fuss. Anyone else would take this in their stride. Itwouldlook marvellous on stage.
‘I must say, it could be a magnificent effect,’ Helmsley agreed. ‘If you can do the fall safely?’
