“I do indeed,” Mr. Wooty said. “Without the playwriting, of course. We’ll start proper rehearsals tomorrow morning, but for the moment I’d like to introduce Hamlet and Ophelia to the cast and just run over a few lines.”
“May I speak to you afterwards?” Joan asked. “I have a favor to ask. Another favor, that is, because I am so grateful that you are allowing Otis and me this opportunity.”
“For you, anything,” Mr. Wooty said.
He turned to Thaddeus. “From the moment Lady Joan walked into one of our rehearsals a decade ago, I realized that she has a rare talent. It’s a shame that she was born to the castle. I know most wouldn’t agree with me, but that’s the truth of it.”
“We don’t always fit the mantles we’re born to,” Thaddeus said quietly.
Joan thought that was an interesting comment, since of all the gentlemen whom she’d met in her life, Thaddeus was the one person most suited to his position in life.
Mr. Wooty clapped, and the cast clustered around.
Joan couldn’t stop smiling as she greeted old friends and was introduced to new faces. Otis kept doing a reasonable job of curtsying.
A young woman with wheat-colored hair and eyes the color of dark jade came to join them. Otis promptly forgot to curtsy and bowed instead.
“My niece, Mademoiselle Madeline Wooty,” Mr. Wooty said. “She grew up in France with my brother, God rest his soul, and joined the troupe a month ago. Madeline inherited a flair for the dramatic from her mother.”
Just as I did, Joan thought.
Although Madeline was presumably not illegitimate.
Madeline curtsied before Joan. “How do you do, Lady Joan?”
Joan bowed. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Wooty. Please call me Joan. After all, we’re going to be rehearsing for long hours, if nothing has changed from previous years.”
Madeline giggled. “That is true. My uncle never seems to think that a scene is perfect, even if we all know our lines.”
“Every single line?” Otis said, looking alarmed. “I shall disappoint him, I’m afraid.”
“I have been playing Ophelia in the last few weeks, sir,” Madeline said to Otis. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
“I would be most grateful,” Otis said, giving her a smile so lavish that Joan blinked.
“We might practice your lines while the cast rehearses other scenes,” Madeline suggested. “Ophelia is rarely on the stage, after all.”
“Let’s begin,” Mr. Wooty bawled, turning toward the stage. “We’ll run through the play with properties, no lines, so we begin to master the entrances and exits. Mr. Garnish, you’re playing Claudius and the Ghost, so I’d advise you to be quick in putting on the Ghost’s armored headpiece. Mrs. Wooty, you’re Hamlet’s mother. You’ll need to paste a few more jewels on your crown, or Ophelia’s hat will steal your thunder.”
Mrs. Wooty had once told Joan that it was better to be a lady than an actress, as acting was backbreaking labor. Yet she climbed onto the stage with a cheerful wave, popped a tarnished crown on her head, and transformed into a queen with the flick of an eyelash.
Joan marched toward the stage. For the first time in her life, she was part of the troupe instead of being a bystander, longing to be on stage. She couldn’t stop smiling.
Thaddeus crossed to a chair by the wall and sat down.
Mr. Wooty called the characters to the stage, one by one.
Hamlet was last.
Joan walked forward, hand on her rapier, and put on her “Lord Greywick” expression. She couldn’t think of it as Thaddeus’s any longer. He had become a far more complicated person to her.
“Not bad,” Mr. Wooty said, narrowing his eyes. “You’ll need a codpiece, though. Dunny!”
The stagehand stuck his head from behind the curtain where he was organizing important properties—like the skull Hamlet talked to. Joan couldn’t wait to do that scene.
“Fit Hamlet with a codpiece!”
“No,” Thaddeus said, from the side. He didn’t raise his voice, but the word reached every wall of the ballroom, and they all froze.
“Right!” Mr. Wooty said. “No codpiece.”
“She may wear a codpiece, but it will be fitted by her maid,” Thaddeus clarified.
Wooty nodded. “Moving on.”
The afternoon seemed to pass far too quickly. Joan had never felt so happy. She felt self-conscious launching into her first speech, but it wasn’t about her. The important thing was the play as a whole.
Thaddeus didn’t go to sleep, or even look bored. He sat at the side of the room watching closely. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel his gaze, like a warm blanket around her shoulders.
When the stagehand passed her a skull—a real skull!—she felt an incredible thrill, holding it up to the late afternoon light. Afterward, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over at Thaddeus.
He gave her a small, secret smile, and warmth poured down her back.
When the ballroom began to grow dark, Prism entered and asked Joan whether she would like the great chandeliers lowered from the ceiling so the candles could be lit.
“Mr. Wooty?” she asked. Even deferring to her theater director was a thrill. It meant she was part of something other than the Wilde family.
He shook his head. “It’s been a long day.” Mr. Wooty turned to the troupe. “We’ll start at eight in the morning, everyone in costume.” He pointed to Otis. “You, young Ophelia, I’d like you to stay in your women’s garb night and day until the performance. Practice walking like a woman, thinking like a woman. Speaking might be too much to ask.”
Otis nodded.
Mr. Wooty turned to Joan. “The fencing scenes are a problem. Is there someone in the castle who can give you some basic instruction in dueling? As you saw, our Laertes is a hearty lad, and it strains belief to think that you could offer him a match, let alone kill him.”
“I can teach Lady Joan,” Thaddeus said, moving forward.
“Excellent,” Mr. Wooty said. “Put the stage back in order, everyone!”
“Are you comfortably situated?” Joan asked him.
“Entirely,” Mr. Wooty said. “We like to sleep in our wagons, as you know, my lady. Mr. Prism has promised us a fine feast tonight, which we’ve been looking forward to since we left London.”
From the corner of her eye, Joan saw that Thaddeus had turned away to chat with Otis and Madeline.
“May I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Wooty?” she asked.
“Of course, my dear.”
She led him to the other side of the room, and they sat down on two of the chairs lined against the wall.
“Now what can I do for you?” Mr. Wooty asked. “Your command of the text is perfect, as I would have expected. It’s unusual to have a woman playing the role, but I reckon that you’ll manage it in such a way that no one will feel anything missing.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Joan said. “You see, Mr. Wooty, my family will clap no matter what I do, even if I forget all my lines.”
“That’s a good thing,” Mr. Wooty observed. “Young Mr. Murgatroyd has a willing heart, but memorization appears to be a challenge.”