Murder Dancing by Lesley Cookman Page B

someone.
    â€˜A rat,’ said Stan. ‘A hanged rat.’
    Various expressions of disgust quivered round the auditorium.
    â€˜Someone must have got into the theatre during the night,’ said Max. ‘Apart from Ben, Peter and Libby, the only people who have keys are Stan, and Sebastian and me. None of us was responsible, so I’m asking now if anyone here knows anything about it.’
    â€˜None of them will admit it if they are,’ Peter murmured in Libby’s ear. ‘Can’t make it out myself.’
    As expected, no one in the auditorium had anything to say.
    â€˜Very well,’ said Max, ‘then we will carry on with rehearsals. Warm up on-stage in five minutes please.’
    He strode off into the wings, followed by Stan. Sebastian stayed on the edge of the stage. Libby went and sat beside him.
    â€˜You found it, didn’t you?’
    Sebastian nodded. ‘Horrible, it was. I felt so sorry for it.’
    â€˜I wonder how they caught it?’
    â€˜I expect they found it.’ Sebastian shuddered. ‘Whoever “they” are. I just can’t understand why.’
    â€˜No, neither can I. Did you think it would stop when you came down here?’
    â€˜I suppose I did. Stan said the show was doomed, but he’s never exactly a ray of sunshine.’
    Libby regarded him with interest. ‘Do you actually like Stan?’
    Sebastian grinned. ‘No, actually I don’t. And before you ask why the hell I’m shacked up with him, I’ll tell you. I owe him. He got me out of a bit of trouble a year or so back, and he’s kept me around like a pet bloody monkey ever since.’
    Libby diplomatically didn’t ask about the trouble. ‘Were you already in the theatre?’
    â€˜Stage Management degree. But I buggered up. Stan – ah – rescued me. And here I am.’
    â€˜Well, it’s quite a good start,’ said Libby cautiously.
    â€˜Suppose so. But I want to do proper theatre.’ He turned to her hastily. ‘Not that this isn’t a proper theatre …’
    Libby laughed. ‘I know what you mean. Drama?’
    â€˜Yes.’ A dreamy look came over Sebastian’s face. ‘I’d love to work at The Globe.’
    â€˜Wouldn’t we all,’ said Libby. ‘Come on. We’d better get off the stage or we’ll get trampled.’
    She wandered to the back of the auditorium, where Ben was now standing with his arms folded and a scowl on his face.
    â€˜What’s up?’
    â€˜They’ve messed up the bloody lanterns.’
    â€˜Oh. Did they hang the rat from one of the barrels?’ The barrels were the bars on to which the stage lights, or lanterns, were attached.
    Ben nodded. ‘And young Seb had to move everything to get the rope off.’
    â€˜Why didn’t he just cut it?’
    â€˜He did, but we still had to get the rope off. It was wound round one of the lanterns. Now we’ve got to re-set and probably re-plot.’
    â€˜Oh, dear.’ Libby left him glowering at the stage and crept up the spiral stairs to the lighting box.
    â€˜Is it as bad as Ben’s made it sound?’ she asked Peter.
    â€˜Oh, we can re-set, that’s no problem, but obviously we can’t do it while they’re rehearsing.’
    â€˜So that means what? Tonight?’
    â€˜Suppose so.’ Peter looked across at Damian, who still sat with earphones on gazing at the stage.
    â€˜Does he ever take them off?’ whispered Libby.
    â€˜Not when he’s up here.’ Peter shook his head sadly. ‘Musicians, eh?’
    Libby went back to the Manor, collected more dirty cups from the sitting-room and took them into the kitchen.
    â€˜I hope we don’t get any more so-called incidents,’ she said to Hetty, as she piled them next to the dishwasher.
    â€˜What d’yer make of it, then?’ asked Hetty.
    â€˜What do I make of it? I’ve no