Free Cursed in the Act by Raymond Buckland

Guv’nor . . . Would he? . . . Could he? . . . No! We both mentally shook our heads.
    â€œAbout this Daisy person?” I said.
    â€œHrmph! The Guv’nor had a hard training. For almost a decade he played in a wide variety of stock companies around the country, mainly in the north. It was his first break when he played the St. James’s Theatre, here in London, in ’66. As a young bachelor, he might have been tempted to an occasional brief flirtation with one or more of the young ladies treading the boards in those days. It would be only natural. But I doubt very much that he would have taken advantage of this Daisy in any way. Much more likely that the young woman in question has seen his rise to fame and was looking—perhaps through our Mr. Richland—to gain monetarily.”
    â€œYes,” I agreed. “That does sound reasonable.”
    â€œBesides, it is my understanding that Henry was devoted to the stage and to fine-tuning his acting abilities even to the extent of living an almost monastic existence. No, I think we can dismiss those letters, Harry,” continued Stoker, turning his attention back to his crowded desk. “At least for now.”
    â€œOh! There was one thing, though.” I suddenly remembered something. “There was reference in one of the letters—I didn’t read the whole thing, you understand? Just glanced through it—there was mention of Ralph Bateman.”
    â€œBateman? Are you sure?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œWhat did it say about him?”
    â€œAs I said, sir, I didn’t actually read the letter. Just glanced at it. After all, sir, this was personal correspondence of the Guv’nor’s.”
    â€œRight.” Stoker’s brow furrowed. I knew he didn’t trust Ralph Bateman. And now it seemed there was a connection between Bateman and the late Peter Richland. “Perhaps we are being a trifle hasty in simply dismissing those letters,” he said, thoughtfully. “I’m thinking it may not be a bad idea to verify whether or not there’s anything there that might affect the well-being of the Lyceum.”
    â€œWould not the Guv’nor have brought such a thing to your attention?” I asked.
    â€œMaybe; maybe not. He always has a lot on his mind, of course. He may have dismissed out of hand much of what Richland wrote. And probably didn’t even read all of it. No, on reflection I rather wish you had borrowed one or two of these epistles.” He sighed. “But I suppose we have enough to worry about with the poisoning and the attempt on your life with that dropped sandbag.”
    I thought for a moment before asking, “If it is Sadler’s Wells at the bottom of this, sir, what would be their motive?”
    â€œMotive?” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “We beat them to the opening night, Harry! Our
Hamlet
started a good couple of days before their
Twelfth Night
, so we got the lion’s share of theatre-goers for the all-important start of the season. The pit customers gave us resounding approval. You know how these things go. Now, if Sadler’s Wells can manage somehow to disrupt our advantage—to perhaps cause us to close
Hamlet
, if only temporarily—then it would allow them to catch up and probably take over as the number one London production. Big houses mean big profits, Harry. You know that.”
    â€œYes, sir. I do.”
    â€œThere’s a lot of money at stake here.”
    â€œSo there may very well be some sort of a vendetta being waged against the Lyceum and its production?”
    â€œThat there may, Harry. That there may. And I’m wondering just where Ralph Bateman stands on that score.”
    I was able to get some of my regular work done for an hour or so after that. I must admit that I did have occasional thoughts of young Jenny but tried to put them out of my head and concentrate on Lyceum work. I