Summary:  An old actress touches a very special spot in Adam’s heart.  

Rated: K+ (3,075 words)

 

The Calling

“I’m so delighted we’ve met, my dear boy.” She leaned back in the pillows of her chaise-longue, the silks and laces of her exuberant gown rustling with the movement. “I so rarely have the chance to entertain visitors in my little lair.”

“That’s a pity, Lady Charlotte,” Adam remarked and did his best to keep his eyes from wandering through the large room. It was a treasure trove with its antiques, the giant paintings depicting its flamboyant occupant in her most prestigious roles, all the stage props and costumes she had used in her long career – on lush display. He could have spent a week in this room, just looking about and savoring all the details. A small, bashful smile crossed his lips. “It’s hardly the time for a call…”

This was certainly true – it was the middle of the night. The heavy thunderstorm outside had prevented his sleep, or maybe it had been his deep thoughts that hadn’t allowed him any rest this night. He had gotten up and wandered the old English country manor until his way had led him into the west wing of the building. Curiosity had lured him into this wing that according to his hosts wasn’t used anymore – and then he had spotted the placards and billboards lining the walls of one hallway. Theater billboards, big and colorful, advertising performances long past. They had fascinated him, he had walked from one to another, studying them, admiring them, he had gotten lost in them.

“Poppycock, my dear boy!” Lady Charlotte called out and laughed – this infectious, hearty laugh that had dissolved all his hesitation in accepting her spontaneous invitation as she had suddenly opened the winged doors at the end of the placarded hallway. She certainly was unconventional. “Believe you me, at my age there is not much of a difference between day and night – and in the last act, there’s not much need for sleep anymore. There’ll be enough of it when the curtain falls.”

Adam hardly knew what to answer. “I didn’t even know this wing was occupied.”

“Ah, my most respectable family!” She laughed again. “No doubt they told you this wing was uninhabited and probably unsafe to enter, too. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if they told you it was haunted even, with wailing ghosts wandering about in it, desiring to harm the living!” Her green eyes sparkled with amusement. “My dear boy, this is a very old and noble family – perhaps the oldest here in Sussex. There could be nothing more shameful and more urgently requiring hiding from the eyes of a visitor than an actress in the family.”

“I see…” The laughter in her eyes made him chuckle. She was a darling – and he felt like he had known her for years. He was so comfortable and at ease in her presence, there was an inexiplicable feeling of trust, of companionship even.

“Hypocrits, all of them,” Lady Charlotte declared. “Would you be so good as to give me a match?”

Adam hastened to light a match for the cigarillo she had in a golden holder. It didn’t surprise him the least that she smoked – it just looked like her. “They are quite hospitable, though.”

“Hmmm…” She exhaled a cloud of smoke, watched it floating around the orange lit globe of the elaborate crystal petroleum lamp. “But so utterly unimaginative. Dare I say: dull?”

“You wouldn’t…” The dimples had grown deep in his cheeks.

“Of course not,” she replied and they both started laughing.

Lady Charlotte took another puff from her golden-tipped cigarillo and sat up, regarding him. “Now tell me, my dear boy – what was that with the theater this afternoon?”

Adam started, his brow furrowed. “The theater…?” He had not mentioned anything of it to her.

She smiled, her green eyes shimmering in the warm light. From outside, another rumbling thunder rolled within the pouring rain. “Oh, the servants mentioned it to me. One of them saw you coming out of the theater at Marlowe Square, and it’s said you were deep in thought and never quite the same all evening.”

“Oh… yes…” A small, embarrassed laugh broke from his lips. The servants… of course. There were servants everywhere around; of course they saw everything and as it seemed, they did not hold back with their observances. “It was nothing, really…”

She didn’t reply, but her eyes never let go of him. They seemed to grow bigger and he felt like she could look right through him into the very depths of his soul, until his whole insides lay exposed before her so she could read him like the pages of an open book.

“Well…” A sheepish smile spread over his face. “It was nothing. There was a vacancy for an actor, and I was… sort of curious. It was a stupid whim…” He broke off, clasping his hands and too bashful to meet her scrutiny. “I always wanted to have a look behind the stage of a theater. Get a whiff of its atmosphere… and this was a chance to take a little glimpse.”

“So you didn’t apply for the vacancy?” she asked softly.

He laughed again. “I’m not even an actor. I really shouldn’t spend much thought on it.” His forehead folded into deep wrinkles. “I think it’s time for me to return to America. I haven’t seen my family for nearly ten years… I reckon they could use me on the ranch.”

“You left there for a reason, didn’t you?” Lady Charlotte never took her eyes off him.

Adam stiffened and uncomfortably pinched his nose. “Yes…”

“But you never found what you were looking for…”

He exhaled a deep breath. “No.”

“So maybe this theater could be what you were looking for…”

Adam blew a dry laugh and shook his head. “As I said, it was but a stupid whim to go there at all. I’m not an actor. And I reckon I’m too old to start with anything like this. I’m forty-four.”

“Ah…” She chuckled and her eyes twinkled with a smile. “I played Ophelia when I was seventy-five – and I convinced them!” She got up from the chaise-longue in such a swift and elegant motion that it took him by complete surprise. He hadn’t thought it possible that a woman of her age could still move with such grace, with such agility. He watched her walking to the heavy curtains and pulling them open. The thunderstorm was still raging and a flash sent a hail of blueish arrows into the warm orange glow of the lamps.

Lady Charlotte turned around and raised her arms, pulling a few combs from her head and tossing them aside. Her white hair fell down in a long, wavy flood, shimmering like liquid silver as she rustled it even more. Whirling her gown around her, she came towards him and began to recite, her strong, still voluminous voice reverberating through the room,

“Alack, I am afraid they have awaked,
And ’tis not done. The attempt and not the deed
Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready;
He could not miss ’em. Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done’t.”

Adam could just stare at her. All those portraits, costumes, placards and billboards couldn’t have mediated the greatness of the actress she must have been – and still was. She was Lady Macbeth herself.

Her green eyes glowed as she reached him, stretching out her hands, “My husband!”

He rose to his feet almost against his will, and for one heartbeat his lower lip trembled before he spoke, “I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?”

There was a distinctive flash in her eye before her face went back into character. “I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak?”

Adam felt something beginning to burn inside him. “When?”

“Now.”

“As I descended?” The burning became stronger, as if something was rioting in his soul to be let out.

“Ay.”

He drew a trembling breath and gave in into this strong desire to just act. “Hark! Who lies i’ the second chamber?”

“Donalbain.”

Adam raised his hands and looked at them. “This is a sorry sight.”

“A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.”

By now, Adam had forgotten where he was and what he was – or rather, it didn’t matter anymore. His baritone rose, “There’s one did laugh in’s sleep, and one cried
‘Murder!’
That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them:
But they did say their prayers, and address’d them
Again to sleep.”

“There are two lodged together.” Lady Charlotte exclaimed, and only the most attentive observer might have noticed the stealthy twinkle in her eye.

Adam wasn’t a good observer as he balled his hands to fists and went on,
“One cried ‘God bless us!’ and ‘Amen’ the other;
As they had seen me with these hangman’s hands.
Listening their fear, I could not say ‘Amen,’
When they did say ‘God bless us!'”

“Consider it not so deeply.”

He whirled around. “But wherefore could not I pronounce ‘Amen’?
I had most need of blessing, and ‘Amen’
Stuck in my throat.”

“These deeds must not be thought
After these ways; so, it will make us mad.”

“Methought I heard a voice cry ‘Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep’, the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast, —” His voice broke and it shook him as if he were Macbeth himself.

“What do you mean?” Her deep soprano filled the air.

Adam’s voice rose again, “Still it cried ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house:
‘Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.'”

Lady Charlotte flew around, her index finger jabbed at him, 
“Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,
You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brainsickly of things. Go get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
They must lie there: go carry them; and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.”

Adam took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “I’ll go no more:
I am afraid to think what I have done;
Look on’t again I dare not.”

A long silence followed his last words, until finally Lady Charlotte’s chuckle was to be heard. “And you say you’re not an actor.”

“Oh…” Adam blew a laugh. He still had to come out of the magic in which he was entangled – the fever that had suddenly gripped him. He drew a deep breath and regarded her. “I… I have to thank you, Lady Charlotte. This was an… overwhelming experience.”

She smiled as she did a step closer. “Like something had been burning inside you that needed to be let out – and that you won’t be able to store away again.” Her hand touched his arm and her green eyes locked with his. “A passion that had awakened – and that will sleep no more.”

His jaw worked as he returned her gaze. Her eyes were mesmerizing, and he knew that she knew the truth. There was no use trying to hide it. “Yes.”

“It’s the one thing that makes us feel alive.” For the shortest moment there seemed to be a trace of sadness on her face, but her smile swept it away. “You’ll go to this theater again tomorrow, my dear boy. I have a feeling the vacancy is still there for you.”

“Well…” He laughed again and did not quite know what to do with his hands. “It would only just be a limited offer for about five months. And of course they would test me first.”

“It’s a beginning.” Her smile deepened. “You’ve played with the best tonight, my dear boy. You’ll play with the best again. Look…” Her hand pointed towards the window. “The thunderstorm is over, and the rain has ceased.”

“Yes…” He glanced out into the dark landscape. “And it’s almost dawn.”

Her green eyes twinkled as she turned her head to him.”Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.”

Adam smiled as he put his hand on hers, still on his arm. “It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.”

“Be gone and live…” she repeated thoughtfully. “And you promise me to go to the theater tomorrow.”

“I promise.” Adam raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “And I will be delighted to see you again.”

She laughed. “You will, my dear boy, you will – on every stage you’ll enter.”

* * *

Much to his dismay, but to be expected after such a restless night, Adam slept in the next morning and arrived in haste and yet too late at the breakfast table. The whole family was still seated and the servants hurried to serve him his coffee and his meal.

“I’m terribly sorry…” 

“Ah, don’t apologize, dear chap!” Lord Rupert cried. “Not one of us could sleep properly during that nasty storm last night, and we all were late this morning. Horrid night it was.”

“Oh, I had quite a pleasant night.” Adam smiled and took a sip of his coffee. “I could not sleep and wandered around a bit; and by chance I got into the west wing where I met the lovely Lady Charlotte…”

Something crashed to the floor behind him and he turned to see the aghast face of the maid who had dropped a full tray. Her mouth hung open as she gaped at him. No one moved, no one said a word. Adam’s brow furrowed as he turned to the family. The lady of the house was pale as a sheet, everybody stared as if they’d seen a ghost.

“Lady… Charlotte…” Lord Rupert echoed. His face had turned ashen.

“Yes…” Adam didn’t know whether to laugh or roll his eyes. Lady Charlotte had been right – an actress in the family really seemed to amount to a catastrophe in this house. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it. “She’s a very delightful lady. I enjoyed our conversation very much.”

Lord Rupert swallowed. “Adam…” He took a deep breath, his lips trembled. “Lady Charlotte died more than sixty years ago.”

* * *

“No one has lived in the west wing since…” Lord Rupert brushed off a cobweb, his whole demanour bearing glaring witness that he really didn’t like to venture any further into the decaying wing. “And since the family finances were a wee bit strained lately, we never had it restored… it’s really not very safe to enter.”

Adam didn’t reply, his darkened gaze wandered down the hallway. The placards and billboards that had lured him in the previous night were gone, merely the discolored edges in the faded tapestry indicated that something must have hung there decades ago. It suddenly ocurred to him that he never read her name… usually the most prominent item on such billboards. But last night, the name of the leading actress had always been in the shadows – blurred, covered, concealed.

“Her name…” He bit his lip before he continued. “I couldn’t recall her name.”

“Oh, she changed it, of course, to spare the family the embarrassment.” Lord Rupert carefully picked his way down the hallway. There was rubble everywhere. “Her stage name was Charlotte de Winter.”

Adam froze in place, his mouth fell open. Charlotte de Winter… the greatest Shakespearean actress of the 18th century – a legend during her lifetime and beyond. He had read about her, had seen her portraits… and it had felt like he had known her. 

You’ve played with the best tonight, my dear boy. You’ll play with the best again.

Adam hesitated to open the doors to her room. The wood hadn’t been so dirty before; it had been polished, dark mahogany shimmering in the candle light. But he still opened them and saw the half-empty room, the cobwebs, the layers of dust and decay, the few pieces of furniture remaining covered in dirt-stained sheets. The dust on those sheets was proof enough that they hadn’t been moved for decades.

There was no horror in him, no discomfort, no disbelief. There was nothing of the doubts and thoughts one would have expected in an analytical, thinking mind in the face of such a surreal experience. All he could feel was a growing sadness – sadness that he would not see her again.

It was like a soft chuckle somewhere in the air.

You will, my dear boy, you will – on every stage you’ll enter.

* * *