Page 45 of The Songbird of Wychwood

CHAPTER 27

GEORGE

I did as Percy suggested and returned to the Middlesex on Tuesday night. Eloise and I had the Wednesday evening show to focus on where we would debut the new song. Wednesday was always our set day to test out new songs, and so the orchestra would be in early. I’d written copies of the new manuscript for each member of our orchestra and the conductor. They would run through the music a time or two to iron out any problems before Eloise and I rehearsed our skit.

We were doing a full costume rehearsal, without make-up. Eloise’s costume was of a gent’s suit, and mine, a pink summer dress.

“So, how did your meeting with Percy’s lawyer go?” Eloise asked conversationally as I entered the dressing room and closed the door behind me. Lou eyed herself in the mirror while smoothing the wig of dark gentleman’s hair required for her character. The look of her made me smile, and I was sure the punters would enjoy it too.

“It went well, I think. We’ve got a plan!” I relayed cryptically as I began to undress.

“Come on then, spill!”

“Well. I’d say things are about to get a little awkward for our Mr. Grayson,” I brightened. “Percy’s lawyer, Mr. Simmons said that they have an inquiry agent they use for settling unpaid accounts. On Percy’s order, he employed this fellow to look into Grayson’s dealings. And depending on the outcome of the investigations, they said Grayson could be looking at criminal charges.”

Eloise gasped. “Really! Could he go to jail?”

“I dunno if it will go that far. But what he’s done, stealing my songs, Mr. Simmons said that’s illegal. He said that we need to find out about Grayson’s business dealings before we’ve got enough evidence to take it to Bow Street. The enquiry agent is to visit music shops in town to find out which ones are selling my songs. Mr. Simmons said that from the sale price of each manuscript and sales numbers they’ll be able to estimate how much money he’s made from his scam.” I stepped into the crinoline cage and tied the ribbons at my waist.

“Good—wonder how long it’ll take that vazey ratbag to have your new song printed with his own name as writer?” she said venomously as she affixed her prop spectacles.

“Mr. Simmons is coming to the show tonight. He said that the song has to be performed in front of an audience and then he’ll add a signature to witness my original copy of the score to make it all legal and such. All of the copies I made for the orchestra have been discretely named and numbered, and so when the curtain comes down tonight we’ll check which copy he’s stolen.”

“Oh, very clever,” Lou praised as she clipped on a pair of colourful braces to hold up her trousers.

“You know Sid, from the Sun Tavern?” I asked casually as I pulled the pink day dress for the character of Miss Adeline over my head.

“Yeah, he’s a good sort, looks out for me and the girls when we leave the pub late. Why?”

“Grayson uses Pittman’s printers for the posters and playbills, but the manuscripts that he had printed don’t have a printer’s name. I want to find out where he’s getting them made. Sid’s going to follow him tonight and tell me where he goes.”

“Well, you are quite the little schemer George Dancie. I’m impressed,” Eloise snickered. “He’s acting like a guilty man who knows he’s guilty.”

And Eloise wasn’t wrong.

After our rehearsal I was approached by a stage hand and told that Mr. Grayson wanted to see me in his office. The last time I was in the boss’s office he was vile, and told me in no uncertain terms that he owned everything I made. And so I trembled with anxiety as I made my way down the low lit corridors to where his office was located. Percy had suggested I try to keep my game face on if I met with my boss alone, and he was right. I couldn’t alert Grayson to the fact I knew he was a scoundrel.

I stood at the open doorway to the office, and on hearing my knock, Mr. Grayson looked up, grinned and then he rose from behind his desk to greet me.

“Come in Georgie, come in, take a load off. Would you like a cuppa?” Grayson wheedled with unusual, quite frankly, alarming courtesy. Then he hollered, “Doris, oi, bring in a fresh pot of tea and two cups.” He re-took his seat behind the now cleared desk. I had no idea what had become of the piles of paperwork and ledgers, but the oak desk was finally clean. It had seen a drop of wax polish too and was buffed up to a good shine. Maybe Doris was the new secretary, and I guess that couldn’t hurt if the place got a tidy!

“What’s this about sir?” I asked, not feeling at all comfortable with Mr. Grayson’s unsettling mood swings.

He sat back and considered me for a long moment before saying, “You know you’re my best boy, Georgie. And fairs fair, things have gotten…a little tricky between us in recent times. Now, I’ll admit, I ain’t been my best self for a while and being a god fearin’ fella I’m willing to make amends.”

I didn’t know what to say to that strange, candid admission and so I said nothing.

“I promised last year that I’d arrange a tour for your act, and I didn’t follow through. Well, things have changed. I’ve just had lunch with Bob Dukes, my tour manager, and I’ve decided we’re going to send you on tour of England my lad. How does that sound?”

“Oh!” Ordinarily I would have been taken aback, delighted and buzzing with excitement at such an opportunity to travel and perform to new audiences all over the country. I couldn’t recall all of the places we’d lived when I was a nipper. I’d been out of London a handful of times as an adult but not enough to curb my curiosity. I wanted to go to the seaside, and to the Lake District, which I’d heard took one’s breath away with its beauty. I wanted to see other theaters and tread the boards on stages new to me. I wanted to cross the English Channel and go to Paris to where I might still have some family. There was so much of the world to see, however, I knew in this instance a wicked manipulation was at play. Mr. Grayson had offered me my dream on a plate after weeks of strange behaviour. Did he expect me to forget the spying, the mood swings, and the adamant claim that everything I did at the Middlesex belonged to him? I didn’t trust it, not one bit.

“We’ll book dates for Brighton, Oxford, Cambridge, Ipswich, Manchester, Liverpool, and York for starters, a week in each to showcase your considerable talents. How does that sound? If all goes to plan, we can get you on the coach to Brighton by next week. I can make a fuss in the press about next week being your final week at the Middlesex before you go on a grand, national tour,” he said smiling with satisfaction.

Did he think I’d floated down the Thames in a bubble? I’m no fool, but this blaggard had fooled me once. That was one time too many, and he wouldn’t get a second chance. I knew exactly what he was doing. Grayson was trying to get me out of the city so he could continue to profit from his fraud without the possibility of me discovering it. I bet he couldn’t bear to look at me each day knowing what he’d done. Tough! Now was not the time for me to go gallivanting around the country to make Alfred Grayson richer. The reality of my situation was now clear as crystal. I wouldn’t be working at the Middlesex much longer, no matter if my case went to civil court or not. But before I could comment on Mr. Grayson’s revelation Doris bustled in carrying a tea tray with a pot, two tea cups, a sugar bowl, and a jug of milk.

“Here you go luv…Uh…Mr. Grayson…sir,” she bungled as she placed the tray on the cleared desk.

“Thanks, darlin’.”