Murder Dancing (3 page)

‘Ssh!' Libby looked round frantically. ‘Where is he?'

Peter grinned. ‘Sitting in there with headphones on. Completely oblivious.'

Libby climbed the staircase and squeezed into the lighting box behind Peter. The young man sitting hunched over the control desk didn't move.

‘Damian,' said Peter. The young man still didn't move. Peter tapped him on the shoulder.

‘Eh? What? Oh!' The young man swung round and re-focused large, blue eyes on Libby.

‘This is Libby Sarjeant,' said Peter, ‘one of the joint owners of the theatre.'

Libby sent him a startled look.

The young man removed his headphones, swept thick, straight, pale hair off his forehead and gave Libby a singularly sweet smile.

‘Hi – I'm Damian Singleton.'

Libby shook the proffered hand. ‘And you're the composer?'

‘Well …' Damian looked awkward. ‘You could put it like that.'

‘That's how Max put it,' said Libby, amused.

‘That was nice of him,' mumbled Damian, looking at his feet.

Libby and Peter looked at each other and shrugged.

‘Were you listening to your music?' asked Libby. ‘How does our sound system stand up?'

‘Oh, it's excellent.' Damian looked up, now enthusiastic. ‘I was actually wondering if I could be up here during the run.'

‘You can, of course, but there won't be anything to do. It'll be switched on and then run on its own,' said Peter.

‘Well, in case, you know, something happens …' Damian turned and looked wistfully at the desk.

‘Like someone falls over and they have to start again?' suggested Libby.

Damian turned back, shocked. ‘Oh, no! That would never happen.'

‘I don't suppose it does,' said Peter. ‘What happens if someone twists an ankle or lands badly after a jump?'

‘They carry on. As far as they can, of course.' Damian looked back at the control desk. ‘Do you mind if I …?'

‘No, you carry on,' said Peter, and watched with amusement as Damian resumed his headphones and sat down again, once more oblivious to the outside world.

‘Is he listening to his score?' asked Libby, as she and Peter descended the spiral staircase.

‘Yes. They only finished recording it the day before yesterday, and he hasn't heard it through a proper sound system until now. He's in a state of high excitement – and very nervous.'

‘Where are Ben and Max?'

‘Somewhere backstage.' Peter pushed open the auditorium doors. ‘Go and have a look.'

The stage was hung with shaded grey gauze, which drifted slightly in an undefinable breeze in front of an impressionistic depiction of Pendle Hill, also in shades of grey. The company stage manager had sent them down and all Ben had to do was hang them from barrels in the flies. There were no changes of scene, merely changes of lighting, which Peter was to work out with Max and the stage manager that afternoon.

Ben appeared on the stage and peered into the auditorium. ‘That you, Lib?'

‘Yes.' Libby advanced to the edge of the stage. ‘How's it going?'

‘Fine. Everything meets with approval. Apparently the SM is driving the company bus down with costumes and props and should be here soon. Then he'll take it to meet the dancers at the station tomorrow.'

‘Any more incidents since we last heard?'

Ben turned and called over his shoulder. ‘Max! Libby's here.' He turned back. ‘I haven't asked. And he hasn't said.'

Max appeared looking far more workmanlike than he had last time Libby had seen him. He grinned and came down to the front of the stage.

‘Your old man's done us proud,' he said, squatting down on his haunches. ‘The boys are going to love it. I'm going across to the Manor in a minute to meet Hetty.'

‘Good,' said Libby. ‘Are the boys looking forward to coming down?'

‘Yes.' Max looked doubtful for a moment. ‘Well, mostly. Some of them do have a rather London-centric attitude, I'm afraid.'

‘Think it's the next thing to death here in the sticks?' said Ben.

Max grinned ruefully. ‘I'm afraid so. But they're all up for the piece, so that's all right.'

‘And no more incidents?' said Libby lightly.

‘Except for one of the witches ending up in hospital, no.'

Chapter Three

‘What?' Libby gasped.

‘Hospital?' said Ben.

‘Oh, it was nothing sinister.' Max stood up. ‘Over-indulgence more likely. Although the hospital did suggest food poisoning.'

‘Poor thing. Is he better now?'

‘Oh, yes. Pale and complaining, but a lot better and inclined not to eat seafood for the foreseeable future.'

‘So nothing to do with the other incidents?' said Ben.

‘Not unless someone coerced the restaurant staff.' Max looked up into the flies. ‘Did you manage the robotics and the Kabuki?'

‘The what?' Libby peered upwards. ‘What are they?'

Ben looked down at her and grinned. ‘Aha! You wait till you see!'

‘FX?' Libby looked over her shoulder at Peter. ‘Are you in on this?'

‘Of course. You just wait and see.'

‘When do you want to try it out, Max?' asked Ben.

‘We won't rehearse tomorrow, they'll be too tired. Or fractious. So on Monday, if that's all right? And I'll warn them it's a tech. They've never worked with this before, although they obviously know it's going to happen –'

‘But what's going to happen?' Libby broke in.

The three men laughed.

‘Just an effect, Libby,' said Max. ‘Honestly, it would be better to wait and see.'

‘Oh, all right,' grumbled Libby.

The auditorium doors crashed open.

‘Hello?' came a muffled voice. ‘Am I in the right place?'

Libby spun round to see what appeared to be a mountain of fabric hovering above the back row of seats.

‘Stan!' Max jumped lightly down from the stage and made his way up the central aisle. ‘Give me some of those.'

Slowly, a small man with large glasses was revealed behind the fabric. He beamed towards the stage. ‘Hi! I'm Stan Willis. Which one of you's Ben?'

‘Me.' Ben grinned back and followed Max up the aisle.

Max took some of the costumes and Stan was further revealed. He was younger than his name suggested, very slim and neat.

‘Hello,' he said holding out a hand to Libby. ‘Are you Libby?'

‘I am. And this is Peter.'

Peter shook hands. ‘I'm the one up in the box. Your composer's up there now testing our sound system.'

Stan rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, God. I do hope he isn't going to interfere.'

Peter looked amused. ‘So do I!'

‘I don't know why he had to be here at all,' said Stan testily, with a sulky glare at Max, who laughed.

‘It would be most unfair to deny him the chance of being at the debut of his first public piece,' he said, ‘and anyway, he might be playing for rehearsals.'

‘How demeaning,' said Stan with a sniff.

‘Are you moaning about me?' a voice shouted from above.

Everyone looked up to see Damian grinning down from the lighting box.

‘Yes, he was,' said Max. ‘Come down here and give us a hand.'

‘Well,' said Libby, ‘if you don't need me for anything, I'll get out of your way.'

‘So will I,' said Peter. ‘We can go through the lighting plot on Monday, can't we?'

Stan looked slightly bewildered. ‘Not tomorrow?'

‘It's Sunday,' said Peter.

‘Stan,' said Max in a warning tone.

Peter grinned amiably. ‘We're not pros, you see, Stan. Purely amateur set-up.' He set off towards the back of the auditorium. ‘Coming, Lib?'

Libby followed him outside into the little garden, where he flung himself into one of the white, wrought-iron chairs.

‘I've never heard you claim that we're an amateur set-up,' she said. ‘He annoyed you, didn't he?'

‘He did, rather. Strikes me as one of those stage managers who despise every other discipline in the theatre.'

Libby sat down opposite him. ‘We had one of those once. He also did design and construction and refused to have pictures hung on the walls of his precious sets as it spoilt them. And the actors messed them up.'

‘Like those old-fashioned nurses who complained that the patients made their wards untidy,' said Peter. ‘Yes, just like that. And our Stanley also strikes me as someone who expects everyone to do exactly what he wants, when he wants it.'

‘So do I gather we don't offer to do anything?' asked Libby with a grin.

‘Other than what we've agreed to. I've already said I'll do lighting, so I'm stuck with that, and Ben offered to crew, although it doesn't look as though there's much to do backstage.'

‘Just that Kabuki thing, whatever it is.'

‘Oh, Stan can do that on his own.' Peter shook his head. ‘And no, I'm not going to tell you what it is.'

Libby went home.

Ben joined her a couple of hours later.

‘How did it go?' Libby moved the big kettle over to the Rayburn hotplate.

‘OK, I think.' Ben sat down at the kitchen table. ‘That Stan is a bit pernickety.'

‘Peter thinks he's one of those people who expect all productions to revolve around them.'

‘I suspect he's right.' Ben sighed and shook his head. ‘I'm glad I won't have to crew for him.'

‘You won't? I thought you'd offered?'

‘He's got someone coming down, apparently, and there's hardly anything to do anyway.'

‘Except the Kabuki thing,' said Libby hopefully.

Ben grinned. ‘Oh, no, you're not getting me that way!'

‘So have we got room for this new person?'

‘He's sharing with Stan.'

‘Oh?' Libby's eyebrows shot up. ‘He didn't strike me as someone who would welcome sharing with anyone.'

‘I believe they're partners,' said Ben. ‘That's the impression I got. Max seems fine with it and ignores Stan's little foibles as far as I can see.'

‘What about Damian? Did he come down to the stage?'

‘Yes. He and Stan seem to enjoy baiting each other. Some of the things they were saying to each other were outrageous.'

‘Golly,' said Libby.

The rest of the
Pendle
company were due to arrive at the Manor at around two o'clock on Sunday afternoon. Max had booked them all in at the pub for dinner, so there was nothing for Hetty to do except welcome them; nevertheless her regular Sunday roast had been put back to dinner time. Libby and Ben went up to the Manor to be on hand should they be needed, and Ben wandered into the theatre to switch on lights in case anyone wanted to look round.

‘I needn't have bothered,' he said, as he returned to Libby and Hetty in the huge Manor kitchen, ‘Damian's already in the sound box listening to his bloody score again.'

‘How did he get in?' asked Libby.

‘That Max came up with 'im,' said Hetty. ‘Went in the minibus to fetch the dancers.'

‘They'll be here any minute,' said Ben looking at his watch.

‘If the train isn't late and they haven't had to get on replacement buses,' said Libby, this being a regular feature of the line into London.

On cue, the sound of an engine coming up the drive announced the arrival of the company. Libby, Ben and Hetty went outside.

The minibus came to a halt, the doors opened and Max jumped down from the near side.

‘Here we are, dears,' he said. Libby and Ben exchanged raised eyebrows. This was the first time they'd heard Max slip into theatrical camp.

A flood of young men followed him out on to the drive, chattering like sparrows. Max held up a hand and they fell silent.

‘Boys, these people are your hosts. Libby here and Ben own and run the theatre, and Hetty is your hostess at the Manor.'

‘Hello,' said Libby, Ben and Hetty together. There was a chorus of replies and a couple came forward to shake hands.

‘Nice to meet you,' said the blond giant who was shaking Libby's hand enthusiastically. ‘I'm Dan Washburn. Not that you'll remember us all by name!'

Libby beamed up at him. ‘I'll try. And you're very tall!'

‘I'm too big, really,' said Dan, with an answering grin. ‘But I can do lifts like billy-o.'

‘I bet you can,' said Libby. ‘Have you got your bags? We'll start showing you your rooms.'

Hetty retreated to the kitchen and Ben and Libby began to lead the dancers to their rooms. They were all delighted that they didn't have to share.

‘You wouldn't believe some of the digs,' confided a slight, dark young man, as Libby showed him into a room overlooking the private garden at the back. ‘This is luxury.'

‘Oh, I would,' Libby told him. ‘I was in the business myself.'

‘You were?' Delicate eyebrows were raised. Libby laughed.

‘Acting, not dancing. Though of course I had to learn the basics.'

‘You had to learn to move.' The dark young man sounded slightly scornful.

‘And did you have to learn to act?' asked Libby.

‘Ah.' He broke into a deep and surprising guffaw. ‘Got me there.' He put his case on the bed and stuck out a hand. ‘I'm Phillip Newcombe.'

‘Pleased to meet you, Phillip. Are you a witch?'

‘I'm Alizon, Demdike's granddaughter.' He put his head on one side. ‘Do you know the story?'

‘The official version – vaguely,' said Libby. ‘Isn't Alizon the one who's accused of killing the pedlar?'

Phillip grinned, delighted. ‘That's the one! John Law, he is.'

‘I'm looking forward to seeing it,' said Libby. ‘Are you enjoying it?'

‘Loving it.' He clasped his hands together and cast his eyes up to the ceiling. ‘Praise whoever's up there.'