Blue Door Venture Read online

  NOTES ABOUT THE SETTING

  Blue Door Venture was first published in the 1940s, and the following references may require some additional explanation for the modern reader.

  Before decimalization in 1971, British currency consisted of pounds, shillings, and pence:

  12 pence = 1 shilling

  20 shillings = 1 pound

  21 shillings = 1 guinea

  so three and six means ‘three shillings and sixpence’.

  The Blue Door books were written well before the invention of the mobile phone, and at a time when not everyone had a telephone in their home. Characters in the stories rely on public telephones in order to keep in touch. Trunk calls or trunks were expensive long-distance phone calls that had to be specially arranged, wires were telegrams, dictated over the phone, and a caller who reversed the charges was asking the person they were calling to pay for the call.

  Woolworth’s and Home and Colonial were both department stores.

  A rep. (or repertory) company is a theatre company which resides permanently at a particular theatre, regularly changing the performances on offer to their audiences.

  A.S.M. is an assistant stage manager.

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  1 THEATRE COMPANY

  2 COLD COMFORT

  3 SNOW-FLAKE BALLET

  4 ENTER LUCKY

  5 A SENSE OF BUSINESS

  6 THE UNEMPLOYED

  7 SPLIT UP

  8 THE STREET CALLED LINDEN GROVE

  9 THE OPEN ROAD

  10 NICK’S CAFF

  11 VILLAGE DRAMA

  12 FARMHOUSE TEA

  13 ILL WIND

  14 ENCOUNTER

  15 GATHERING IN PENLANNOCK

  16 MAIL BAG

  17 THE VALLEY OF DESPOND

  18 AMBUSH

  19 CURTAIN CALL

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  1

  THEATRE COMPANY

  ‘Gosh, it’s cold!’

  As they turned the corner of Pleasant Street and made for the Blue Door Theatre there was a very wintry gust of wind that made them clutch their scarves tightly round their necks and gasp for breath.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nigel, ‘I’m afraid we’re in for a bad winter. And it can make all the difference to us…’

  The Blue Door Theatre had been running for nearly four months, and Fenchester had backed it up splendidly. Most nights of the week the little theatre was nicely full, and on Fridays and Saturdays it was packed as tightly as regulations would allow.

  ‘If only we had a gallery!’ Mr Chubb, the elderly business manager, would groan. But expenses were formidable. There were so many items to be considered: salaries, scenery, costumes, posters advertising their shows… Each week the amount left over to share amongst themselves for pocket-money was horribly small.

  ‘You mean,’ pursued Jeremy, ‘that if we have bad weather so that people stay away, we shan’t be able to start paying back the loan the Town Council gave us when we started?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Nigel. ‘That’s so, isn’t it, Mr Chubb?’ From deep inside the collar of his overcoat Mr Chubb agreed.

  Lyn pulled the hood of her thick coat up over her long dark hair and said thoughtfully, ‘But we’re sure to do good business at Christmas, aren’t we? Especially if we do a pantomime.’

  Bulldog scratched his ginger head in a worried manner. ‘As far as I can see, it all boils down to the boiler…’ The heating system of the theatre was Bulldog’s responsibility, and the bane of his life. ‘If only it will stop being temperamental, we may be able to keep the temperature up to something fairly comfortable inside the theatre, so that people will still come, if only to keep warm. But if the stove conks out we’re done for.’

  Outside the theatre they took the key from the usual hiding-place under a brick, and unlocked. Mr Chubb went at once into the tiny box-office and settled himself at the desk with plans of the seating before him. It was cheering to see one or two people already waiting to book seats, even at ten o’clock on a cold December morning.

  ‘Come on,’ said Lyn, when the bare rehearsal light on the stage had been switched on. ‘Let’s get cracking. We’ll see if anyone knows anything about Act Two.’

  Her brother Jeremy groaned. ‘I’m afraid I hardly know a word. I only just seem to have learned the last play.’

  ‘You should thank your lucky stars that we’re doing fortnightly rep., not weekly,’ Lyn rebuked him.

  They were rehearsing a detective play called Murder in Mid-Channel, and it involved many difficult stage falls. By the time they broke for ten minutes for coffee at eleven-thirty, they were all inclined to be stiff and bruised—except Vicky, the dancer, who specialized in that sort of thing. ‘It’s all a matter of relaxation,’ she told them. ‘Don’t you remember being taught that at the Academy?’

  As they sat round the table in the grubby café opposite the theatre, sipping coffee made with tinned milk but which was at least hot, they formed a colourful group. There were the Halfords—the twins, Vicky and Bulldog, red-headed and freckled, and Nigel, their big brother, dark and brown-eyed; Sandra Fayne, fair and frail-looking; Lynette Darwin, dark and striking, and her brother Jeremy in a pale blue sweater that matched his eyes and suited his curly fair hair. And then, of course, Ali, the dark, limpid-eyed Indian boy who had become their stage manager. Myrtle gave a fruity laugh that rang out in the tiny low-raftered room. She was the character actress whom they had met at the Academy. Stout and friendly, she mothered the whole company. Billy, the little assistant stage manager, stammered and stuttered and dropped things in well-meaning confusion, always trying to be helpful and not quite bringing it off. The scenic artist, Terry, was draped as lazily as usual over the table. But despite the lackadaisical manner he affected, and the fact that one never saw him actually working, the sets which he turned out were very often magnificent. Mr Edwin Chubb’s white locks added a touch of distinction to the company, and he was never at a loss for some anecdote from his long experience of the theatre with which to amuse them or to prove a point.

  The town of Fenchester had grown to love this odd collection of personalities that formed the company of the Blue Door Theatre, especially as the nucleus were local born and bred. But they were interested, too, in the new faces that came and went, when extra artistes had to be called in for shows with large casts. These were usually people who had been at the British Actors’ Guild Academy with the Blue Doors.

  Just as they were putting their coats on to return to the theatre, a telegram boy stepped inside the door of the café. ‘You from the theatre?’ he inquired.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, there’s this for you…’ He handed the telegram to Nigel.

  Be seeing you tonight. Hope you’ve got a juicy part for me. Maddy, it read.

  ‘Oh, good,’ cried Nigel, and read it aloud. Maddy, Sandra’s sister, was the youngest member of the company, and was still in the junior school of the Academy, and could only act at Fenchester during the holidays.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sandra, ‘I meant to tell you we’re expecting her home tonight.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no part for her in this murder thing,’ said Nigel, ‘but she can help Billy with the noises off.’

  ‘She’ll love doing thunder and rain,’ said Sandra.

  ‘Yeth, I could do with thome help,’ said Billy, ‘even if it’s only Maddy, I mean—er—’

  Nigel laughed. ‘Yes. We know what you mean. You’ll have to keep an eye on her. But perhaps she won’t be so wild, now that she’s had to look after herself for a whole term at the Academy.’

  By lunch-time it was colder than ever, and their noses were tinged with pink as they hurried home. In the afternoon they
rehearsed with their coats on, and Bulldog had a long session with the stove, stoking it up ready for the evening performance of The Rivals. ‘I declare this thing is human,’ he announced. ‘Whenever it’s preparing to be really infuriating, it makes horrid little chortling noises.’

  As it was Thursday night, and the fifth time they had performed The Rivals, there were no worries as to the evening’s show, and they were able to have large and leisurely high teas. Conveniently, the new members of the Blue Doors had managed to find digs in the road where the others lived, so they were able to go to and from the theatre in a noisy laughing arguing gang.

  Just before time for the curtain, Maddy arrived. There was a violent banging on the little stage door at the back of the building, and when they opened it, there she was, as plump and untidy and grinning as ever.

  ‘Hallo, you stooges!’ she cried. ‘I’m back. And am I glad!’ She was surrounded by numerous pieces of luggage, including a parcel done up in newspaper that was beginning to split open, displaying a hot-water bottle and a rather grubby pair of tights.

  ‘Let me in—quickly…’ She dragged all her cases in after her, and made a quick tour of the dressing-rooms and the stage, greeting everyone. Then she had a peep through the curtains to survey the audience who were coming in by this time. Nigel hastily dragged her back.

  ‘That we do not allow,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s the most amateur thing in the world to see a bulge appear in the tabs, and an eye glued to the gap.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Maddy apologized sunnily. ‘I can’t get used to the idea of us being so fiercely professional.’

  ‘Clear stage, please,’ yelled Ali, as he did a last minute tour of inspection to see that the furniture and properties were in their right places.

  Maddy hurried round to the front of the theatre to watch the show. Mr Chubb greeted her by intoning, ‘Hail to thee, blithe spirit—’

  ‘Hail to thee, too,’ replied Maddy. ‘Can I have a comp., please?’

  Mr Chubb frowned. ‘On what grounds, may I ask, do you wish for a complimentary seat?’

  Maddy giggled. ‘Well, I’m in the business, too.’ Laughing, he gave her a ticket for the front row of the stalls. Throughout the show she kept her ears skinned for remarks from the audience. And all that she heard was very cheering.

  ‘Oh, I come every other Thursday night. Have my seat booked regular…’

  ‘Yes, I wouldn’t miss a show for anything…’

  ‘Good, this time, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, well, they always are. Clever, you know, aren’t they?’

  Maddy sat glowing inwardly with pride, but outwardly inclined to shiver, for the theatre could not be called warm by any stretch of imagination. Bulldog’s stove made quite a lot of busy crackling noises, especially during the quieter scenes, but did not throw out a lot of heat. Several people in the audience recognized Maddy and came and chatted to her in the interval, and she had a delicious feeling of being back where she belonged and of being appreciated. When the last scene of the Restoration comedy had been brought to a graceful close, and the cast had taken their bows, Maddy went round again, and sat in the girls’ dressing-room, chattering sixteen to the dozen and getting in everyone’s way.

  ‘… And then I came top in fencing, because everyone else was so bad, but, on the other hand, I came bottom for ballet—’

  ‘Maddy, dear, you’re standing on the hem of my dress. Do you mind?’

  ‘Sorry—because I’m always fooling about at the back of the class, you see—’

  ‘Maddy, can I have that chair? I want to get my make-up off.’

  ‘Yes, of course—and, you see, Madame is awfully hot on that sort of thing, and—’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to go and help Ali set the stage for tomorrow’s rehearsal, dear?’ said a tactful Sandra eventually.

  ‘Goodness, it’s like having a tame whirlwind in the dressing-room,’ said Lynette when Maddy had gone. But it gave them all a nice sense of completeness to have her back again.

  ‘Christmas should be fun,’ said Vicky, for no reason whatsoever.

  The next morning at coffee-time they discussed their Christmas plans, and decided to do ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’ and to write the script themselves.

  ‘It will save us paying author’s fees,’ said Nigel. ‘I think it’s an unusual choice, too. Maddy can play Goldilocks, and have her hair out of pigtails, in nice fat ringlets.’

  Maddy exclaimed in horror, ‘Preserve me! I’d much rather play the smallest bear.’ She squeaked sadly, ‘Who’s been sitting in my chair?’ making the waitress nearly drop the coffee she was placing on the table.

  ‘No, you’ll have to play Goldilocks, and Billy can be the little bear.’

  Billy blushed with pleasure. Usually he wasn’t allowed to act because of his stutter and lisp.

  ‘Myrtle can be the medium size bear, and Nigel the big bear,’ they planned, and then began to try to think of jokes and songs for the script.

  ‘And we can have half a dozen of your little Academy friends down to play fairies or robins or something,’ Nigel said to Maddy. ‘You must give me the names of some who can dance. We’ll just pay their expenses, and they can do it for the sake of getting experience. We can give them a few shillings pocket-money if you like.’

  Mr Chubb, always with an eye to business, said to Nigel, ‘You know, dear boy, it’s going to be an expense hiring the skins for the bears.’

  ‘Oh, we needn’t hire,’ cried Sandra. ‘If we can buy masks I can run up the rest of the bears on the machine.’

  ‘Poor bears!’ laughed Maddy. ‘Oh, I’m getting terribly excited about it.’ She stirred her coffee with such abandon that it splashed and made the table-cloth even dirtier.

  ‘Well, we’ve still got this murder thing to get on before we can start rehearsing the panto,’ said Nigel, ‘but we must write as much of it as we can this week and next, so everyone set to and try to get ideas.’

  All that week they went round scribbling on pieces of paper and backs of envelopes and reading out verses and gags to each other, saying, ‘Do you think that’s funny? No, perhaps not…’

  And it got colder and colder. On the first night of Murder in Mid-Channel it started to snow. Just at the time when people should have been setting out for the show, it began… first of all a few harmless little snow-flakes… then more and more, until the sky was full of them, busily whirling down, to coat the streets and the buildings of Fenchester, and make its population firmly determined to stay away from the theatre that night.

  Mr Chubb, sitting freezing in the box-office, counted the people going in, and it didn’t take long. In his moth-eaten astrakhan-collared overcoat, and wrapped in a travelling rug, he counted the takings, the smallest by far that they had ever had. He clucked his tongue, and looked at the booking plan for the week. It was sparse in the extreme.

  Going home that night after the show, remembering the thin applause of the few people in the house, and the hollow echoing of their voices in the half-empty theatre, the Blue Doors were more depressed than they had ever been since the theatre opened. Up till now, snow had been the signal for great rejoicing—for the bringing out of toboggans and greasing of skates. But now all that sort of thing seemed a very long way behind, and the snow was a danger and a menace to them.

  ‘It won’t be much,’ said Bulldog without conviction. ‘Look, it’s slacking off a bit now. It’ll all be gone by tomorrow.’ But the flakes continued to fall, daintily, yet relentlessly. Maddy threw a snow-ball rather guiltily, and everyone looked at her as though she had committed a crime.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I wanted to relieve my feelings.’

  ‘If your feelings need any relief tomorrow morning,’ Bulldog said, ‘come down to the theatre early and help me to shovel some coal under cover out of the yard. It’ll be hopelessly wet.’

  Next morning, directly after breakfast, Maddy, in a balaclava helmet, wellingtons and a sleighing suit, made her way to the theatre t
hrough the deep crisp snow. It was really rather lovely, she had to admit, the old town covered in a white garment, but would they get any audience that night? Every morning during the next couple of snowy weeks she was down at the theatre early, helping Bulldog with the stove and madly shovelling coal. Until one morning, after the opening of Murder in Mid-Channel, he met her at the door of the theatre looking a little strange. His face was so pale that the freckles on it stood out sharply.

  ‘Oh, Maddy,’ he said weakly, ‘the stove’s gone wrong.’

  2

  COLD COMFORT

  All the morning they wrestled with the stove. Rehearsal had to go by the board. It was more important that they should have a reasonably warm theatre for the evening performance. Clouds of black smoke filled the hall, and there were terrifying roarings and gurglings from the stove, but no heat whatsoever. Nigel dashed out to try to get a workman to come and look at it, but it was impossible.

  ‘What on earth shall we do?’ said Sandra. ‘There’s no hearth, even, where we could make a fire—nothing.’

  Nigel said firmly, ‘We’ll all have to bring electric fires from home and plug them into the lights. We’ve got two that I can bring. What about you?’ he asked the Darwins.

  ‘One, I think,’ said Jeremy.

  ‘No,’ contradicted Lyn. ‘It’s fused.’

  ‘We’ve got one,’ said Sandra, ‘but it doesn’t throw out much heat.’

  ‘Well, they’ll have to do for tonight,’ said Nigel, ‘and tomorrow we must get the stove mended.’

  ‘Now for goodness sake let’s start rehearsing this awful pantomime,’ said Lyn. ‘All the fairies and robins and things are arriving tonight, aren’t they, Maddy? So we must have some sort of idea of the show.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Maddy. ‘Three of them are coming tonight, and three tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Oh, dear, and I haven’t worked out their dances at all,’ groaned Vicky.

  ‘Never mind,’ comforted Maddy, ‘just tell them to flit.’