Shadows of the Silver Screen (2 page)

II

 

“It’s quite intolerable. I can’t go on like this!”

His face flushed, the man drew himself to his feet, towering over Penelope’s desk in the cramped office of
The Penny Dreadful
. Penny looked up from the papers scattered in front of her, fixing a weary smile to her face. She glanced across at her guardian, Mr Wigram, who was seated at his desk at the rear of the office, sunshine slanting in through a high window and falling across his face. With his silvery hair blanched almost white by the light, Mr Wigram blinked hard and then frowned, his own annoyance written across his features.

“I can’t go anywhere – speak to anyone – without that blasted Montgomery Flinch getting in the way. They follow me, you know!” the man exclaimed, reaching into his jacket pocket for a handkerchief. “Some have even stooped to sneaking up on me in the sanctuary of my own club, thrusting their grubby scraps of paper into my hand for me to sign. It’s got to stop.”

As he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, Penelope saw a chance to put an end to his rant.

“Monty, you knew perfectly well what you were getting into when you signed the agreement. As the public face of Montgomery Flinch, it’s only to be expected that some of our avid readers will wish to share their enjoyment of his stories with you. You need to attend to their enquiries with the courtesy and grace your position demands.”

“But the questions they ask,” Monty moaned. He slumped back down into his chair as quickly as he had risen from it only moments before. “‘Mr Flinch, what was the secret of the Withered Man?’ ‘Mr Flinch, how many times did the “Dread Mare” rise?’ ‘Mr Flinch, where exactly did
The Tale of the Shattered Heart
take place?’”

Monty gripped the arms of his chair in a flash of anger.

“How am I supposed to know!” he hissed, his knuckles whitening as he stared back at Penny. “I didn’t write the damn things!”

At that moment, Alfie emerged from the back office, carrying an armful of galley proofs. Sensing the air of tension that filled the room, he glanced from Penny to Monty. The actor’s usually jovial face was clouded with fury, his eyes flashing darkly beneath bristling eyebrows. Alfie tiptoed to his chair, slid the proofs on to his desk and then settled back to watch the show.

Penelope frowned, a slow worm of worry burrowing into her brain. This wasn’t one of Monty’s usual weekly moans which could be soothed with a few words of praise or the promise of a raise to his contract. This was a full-blown actor’s tantrum and would need careful handling. She couldn’t risk even a hint of Montgomery Flinch’s true identity reaching the ears of anybody who wasn’t in this room.

“Mr Maples—” Wigram started to speak, but Penny raised her palm to show she had the situation in hand.

“I’m sorry, Monty, but the contract you signed with
The Penny Dreadful
was an exclusive one that allows us to retain the sole rights to your superb theatrical services,” she began, her tone of voice a soothing mix of flattery and threat. “The generous weekly fee that we pay you is to reflect the fact that playing the part of Montgomery Flinch is a full-time role.”

“Full-time would be fine,” Monty replied with a groan, “but this part is taking over every second of my life. The author tours, public readings, book signings and after-dinner talks. If I’m not careful, I’ll forget who I really am. Monty Maples, the finest actor of his generation snuffed out at the hands of Montgomery Flinch.” He held his head in his hands, his mournful eyes fixing Penelope with a beseeching stare. “I need a break.”

Penny sighed. Monty was no use to her like this. In his present mood, the actor was a walking stick of dynamite waiting to explode. All it needed was for someone to ask for his signature at an inopportune time. A rash response from Monty could bring Montgomery Flinch’s
carefully-crafted
reputation crashing down in ruins.

Maybe it would be best to allow him a short vacation – a trip to a spa town perhaps to restore his good spirits.
The Penny Dreadful
could afford to pick up the bill. She reached for her desk diary. They would have to cancel Montgomery Flinch’s scheduled engagements first, concoct some story about the author retreating to the country to work in solitude on his latest tale. A faint smile crept across Penny’s lips. With Monty out of the way for a while, it might even give her some time to write it.

“If you wanted a holiday, Monty,” she said, “then you only needed to ask.”

The actor’s eyes widened in surprise at Penelope’s unexpected reply; then he sprang forward from his chair to seize her by the hand.

“Thank you, my dear sweet girl!” Monty declared, a broad grin clearing the clouds from his brow. “I knew you would understand. I’ll only be away for a mere month and then I’ll return to play the part of Montgomery Flinch with aplomb.”

Wincing, Penny tried to retrieve her fingers from Monty’s grasp.

“Wait a second, what do you mean a month?” she replied in a flustered tone. “I was proposing a week’s vacation – a trip to Bath, perhaps, to sample the restorative waters there. The costs of this will be paid by
The Penny Dreadful
, but of course deducted from your future fees.”

Now it was Monty’s turn to wince.

“But I need longer than a week,” he said. “The tour of the provinces is scheduled to last for the whole of August.”

As soon as the sentence had slipped from his lips, Monty clasped his hand to his mouth, suddenly realising that he had said too much.

“What tour of the provinces?” Penny demanded.

A look of guilt momentarily flashed across Monty’s face. Then he threw back his shoulders as if casting off a weight, his appearance taking on a determined air as he met Penelope’s gaze.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I need a break from the role of Montgomery Flinch,” he announced. “I’m an actor. I want to sing, to dance, to astound an audience with the full range of my theatrical skills, but instead I find myself reading these same macabre tales night after night. It’s enough to drive a man to drink.”

Monty clasped his hand to his chest as though the strain was almost too much to bear. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he drew out a plain postcard, bearing the familiar stamp of the telegraph office.

“When I received this telegram from an old actor friend of mine, I knew it was the answer to my prayers. He has invited me to appear in his production of
The Pirates of Penzance
, playing the leading role of the Pirate King. It’s just the tonic I need – far more soothing for the soul than any week away in a spa town. Once the tour is completed, I will return refreshed and ready to light up literary London again.”

The corners of his mouth creased into what Monty hoped was a winning smile.

“Besides, surely a month’s leave can be arranged. It is the summer after all.”

Penelope sat dumbfounded at her desk. Her slender fingers whitened as they gripped the pencil in her hand. Monty was actually serious about this.

“Are you mad?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “Montgomery Flinch is known throughout London as the Master of the Macabre. We’ve created one of the most celebrated authors alive today: a man of mystery, danger and intrigue. How would it look if he appeared on stage dressed like Blackbeard himself, singing ‘Oh What a Glorious Thing, To Be a Pirate King’? You would ruin everything!”

As Alfie tried to stifle a laugh, Monty bristled with indignation.

“I hardly think that Seymour would have cast me in the show if he thought I would be its ruin.”

“Not the show,” Penny fumed, “I’m talking about
The Penny Dreadful
. We’ve got more than a million readers eagerly waiting for the next serial to fall from the pen of Montgomery Flinch. If just one of those readers was to discover that he wasn’t who he claimed to be, the scandal would make the front page of every newspaper in the land.”

From his desk at the rear of the office, Mr Wigram cleared his throat.

“Your contract is quite clear, Mr Maples,” he intoned, brandishing a sheaf of papers in his hand. The lawyer’s forehead creased as he peered at the page. “May I draw your attention to clause four: ‘If you act or behave in a way which could damage the reputation of Montgomery Flinch,
The Penny Dreadful
has the right to terminate the agreement forthwith and all fees paid to you thus far must be repaid immediately.’”

Monty’s face fell at the thought of this financial blow.

“But it’s a tour of the provinces,” he protested. “Nobody there will have even set eyes on Montgomery Flinch. I’ll use my own name – a pseudonym even – I just have to get back on the stage!”

“It’s out of the question,” Penelope replied firmly. “There’s no way we can let you take such a risk.”

His dark eyes flashing angrily, Monty threw his arms wide in exasperation.

“Then I quit!”

As the words left his lips, Penelope stared up at him in shock. Shaking his head, Mr Wigram sighed as he bent his silvery thatch over the contract again, searching for the severance clause.

An eerie calm fell over the office. Penny and Monty glared at each other, both silently seething at this position they now found themselves in. Then the silence was broken by a knock on the door.

For a second, nobody moved. The door knocker rapped again, twice in quick succession, and, jumping up from his desk, Alfie hurried to it. He opened the front door to reveal a man in a pinstripe suit standing on the doorstep, jauntily tapping his walking stick in time to the tune he was humming. Behind the man, a mouse-like woman peered from beneath her parasol, its white-laced fringe shading her plain features from the sun.

“Can I help you, sir?” Alfie asked.

The man leaned forward, peering around the door frame to inspect the office within. He was a tall and well-built man, just setting out on the journey into middle-age. His handsome suntanned features were framed by red-tinged whiskers, which gave his face a vulpine cast. Spotting Monty standing in the middle of the office, he turned back towards Alfie with a broad smile.

“I’m here to see Montgomery Flinch,” he replied, his voice as smooth as his countenance. “I’ve come to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

III

 

Brushing past Alfie, the man strode into the office as though it was his own. His eyes darted around its interior, mentally photographing every element on display: the dusty bookshelves, the desks filled with scattered page proofs, typewriters and all the familiar accoutrements of the magazine trade, before he bounded up to Monty and grasped him by the hand.

“Mr Flinch, what an honour to meet you at last,” he exclaimed, pumping Monty’s hand in a hearty handshake. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Edward Gold, the proprietor and president of the Alchemical Moving Picture Company. I’ve come here today to present to you a proposition that will transform your literary fame into cinematographic stardom.”

From the doorway, the man’s companion had shuffled apologetically into the office, lowering her parasol to reveal a homely face framed by locks of dark-brown hair. The man glanced back and, snapping his fingers, gestured for the young woman to join them.

“This is Miss Mottram, my secretary,” he continued, as the woman half curtsied in front of Monty. “She has in her possession the contracts I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up to show the seriousness with which I make this offer to you, Mr Flinch.”

Miss Mottram fumbled at the catch to her leather valise, then drew out from the bag a hefty sheaf of papers. She thrust these into Monty’s hands with a simpering smile.

Puzzled, Monty glanced down at the papers, his gaze almost immediately glazing over as he began to read the topmost page.

“Ahem!”

With a pointed cough, Mr Wigram rose from his chair at the rear of the office.

“If I may interrupt,” he said with a frosty tone. “I am Mr Flinch’s legal representative, and as such, all enquiries of this nature should be directed to me. Mr Flinch is a very busy man and certainly has no time to speak to you today. If you care to leave your proposition with me, I will consider it in due course, but for now, sir, I must bid you good day.”

With a tap of his cane, the filmmaker turned towards Wigram and fixed the lawyer with the full beam of his wolfish smile.

“I would be delighted to set out my proposition to you all,” he announced. “I want the world to hear how I will put Montgomery Flinch’s name up in lights at the front of every cinematograph show. I am going to make him a moving-picture star.”

Wigram’s brow furrowed, lending his features a pinched and disapproving air.

“Mr Flinch is a serious writer,” he replied stonily. “Not some fairground performer. I would suggest that you take your proposal elsewhere. It is of no interest to us—”

Raising his hand, Monty waved the elderly lawyer into silence. A strange gleam seemed to shine in the actor’s eyes. Sat behind her desk, Penelope looked on, powerless, almost holding her breath in fear of what Monty might say next. He’d told her that he’d quit. She prayed that he wouldn’t give Montgomery Flinch’s secret away.

“Let’s not be too hasty, William,” Monty began, an intrigued smile spreading across his face. “You’ve got to admire the pluck of the fellow in coming here today. And besides, I could do with a diversion from my latest grim tale.” He turned back towards the filmmaker. “How exactly do you propose to make me a star of the silver screen, Mr Gold?”

With a flourish, Gold unbuttoned his jacket; the sunlight slanting in through the high window putting him into the spotlight.

“The Alchemical Moving Picture Company is one of the leading practitioners of the art of the cinematograph. Our moving picture shows have entranced audiences from Abbey Wood to the Uxbridge Fair.”

As the filmmaker spoke, Miss Mottram stared up at him, her eyes wide in adoration.

“But the times are changing,” Gold continued. “The crowds are starting to tire of the same old cinematographic shows – the films of tortoise races, donkey derbies and boxing bouts. The flickering scenes of everyday life no longer suffice. They are eager for more crafted forms of entertainment. Some have tried with feeble spectacles of terror, limp frights that go bump in the night. But the audience thirsts for more substantial fare. Stories of mystery, drama and suspense; a tale of truth that will hold them spellbound as they huddle in the dark.” The filmmaker fixed Monty with an unflinching stare. “Stories like yours, Mr Flinch.”

Penny glanced across at Alfie. Her friend’s mouth gaped wide with excitement, already imagining the pages of
The Penny Dreadful
brought to life on the cinematograph screen. But an uncomfortable shiver ran down Penelope’s spine. She hadn’t worked so hard to write the stories of Montgomery Flinch just to see them turned into cheap entertainments. It was time to take control of this situation, before things got out of hand.

“What exactly are you proposing?” she asked in a clipped tone.

Gold glanced down at Penelope, as if noticing her for the first time. His eyes flicked over her face as if framing her for a close-up shot and, for a second, his expression froze. Then, with a forced smile, he replied.

“Why to bring one of Montgomery Flinch’s finest fictions to the silver screen, of course. I propose to make a film of
The Daughter of Darkness
.”

Penny was struck dumb by his reply.
The Daughter of Darkness
was one of the very first stories she had written under the pen name of Montgomery Flinch.

Set amidst the wild moors of Devon, this tragic tale of murder, betrayal and revenge told the story of Alice Fotheringay, the only daughter of the widowed Earl of Taversham. With her mother dead, Alice is kept almost prisoner by her father in the gilded cage of Taversham Hall, waited on by a retinue of servants. The earl’s fortune comes from the vast copper mines that lie under the sprawling lands of his ancestral estate. These mines are worked by local villagers; men, women and children alike, whom the earl rules over with a rare cruelty. One day, when Alice escapes from the manor house, she finds herself lost on the moors but is rescued by Oliver, a young boy who works down one of her father’s mines. To guide her home, Oliver gives Alice a present of a strangely carved stone he has unearthed from the depths of the mine, but when the earl discovers this, he flies into a rage and storms off to confront the boy. When Oliver is discovered dead in the mine the very next day, Alice knows her father is to blame. Pouring out her hatred, she stares into the heart of the stone and the darkness within creeps into her soul, filling her with a terrible power … the power to bring Oliver back. But when the dead return, they wreak a terrible revenge on those who have wronged them – as the Earl of Taversham discovers to his cost…

When the tale was first published in the pages of
The Penny Dreadful
, the reviews had been somewhat sniffy. Whilst all showed admiration for the power of Montgomery Flinch’s prose, many reviewers had found the subject matter somewhat sensationalist. However the enthralled readers of
The Penny Dreadful
didn’t agree with their verdicts and the magazine’s sales had shot through the roof.

As Penny now tried to order her thoughts about Mr Gold’s unexpected proposition, Monty was ready with his answer, his face flushed with excitement.

“A wonderful idea!” he declared. “And would there be a part in this moving picture for me to display my own thespian talents? You may have noticed that my performances of dramatic readings from my stories have found favour with the public. I recently sold out five nights at the Royal Albert Hall!”

“You must have been reading my mind, Mr Flinch,” Gold replied, half bowing in deference to the author’s quick thinking. “I wanted to offer you star billing: the part of the earl himself, no less. With the power of your performance, you will have the audience hanging on your every word, their eyes fixed to the screen as you portray the cruelty of this villain’s dastardly deeds.”

“Wait a minute,” exclaimed Alfie, suddenly sitting up in his chair, “the cinematograph shows are silent. How will they hear what Monty – I mean Mr Flinch – says?”

Turning to face the printer’s assistant, Mr Gold rapped his cane on the office floor before pointing it at Alfie like a wand.

“The young gentleman is right,” he replied. “But trust me, Mr Flinch – I do not intend to make you stand in front of a camera holding up a board that spells out your script!”

At this quip, his secretary laughed coquettishly, the shrill sound halfway between a squeak of a mouse and the hiss of an owl. Frowning momentarily, the filmmaker dropped his cane back to the floor before continuing his explanation.

“At the Alchemical Moving Picture Company we have invented a new form of cinematograph. A camera that can record and project both picture and sound – the Véritéscope! This trailblazing innovation will transform our moving-picture shows and the stories we are able to tell.”

He turned back to face Monty, a Messianic gleam in his eyes.

“With this wondrous invention, I will take the cinematograph show out of the travelling fair and instead set up screens on every high street. Crowds will eagerly queue outside town halls, assembly rooms and variety theatres to see the marvels of sight and sound combined.”

Gold glanced across at Wigram, who was still staring at him with suspicion.

“Of course,” the filmmaker continued, “if you agree to this proposed adaptation, it will be to both our benefits. At your public readings, Mr Flinch, I have heard that you perform to as many as five thousand people in a single night. However, with the hundreds of prints I plan to make of this film, you can play to tens of thousands every night without ever leaving the comfort of your club as
The Daughter of Darkness
is exhibited across the country. And what’s more, the magnetic power of your performance will be captured for posterity to delight future generations, even after we are all dead and gone.”

With this final appeal to Monty’s vanity and Wigram’s wallet, Gold brought his impassioned speech to a close.

For a moment, the office fell silent; then Monty turned towards Penny with a wide-eyed expression of delight etched across his features.

“What do you think, Penelope?” he boomed. “Want to see your old uncle’s stories shimmer across the silver screen? A capital plan, don’t you think?”

As every face in the room turned towards her, Penny shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She stared back at Monty, spotting the mischievous twinkle in his eyes which told her that he had her trapped. There was no way she could say no without risking revealing the truth about Montgomery Flinch. Her gaze darted to the broad-shouldered figure of Mr Gold, the filmmaker leaning nonchalantly on his cane, his easy smile betraying the fact he thought this was a done deal.

Penelope’s mind raced as she tried to think through a solution to this intractable situation. If this new-fangled Véritéscope was everything that Mr Gold claimed, then perhaps a film of
The Daughter of Darkness
could be of some benefit. It might help bring her tale to a whole new audience but, more importantly, it could keep Monty onside.

As she looked up at Monty’s smug smile, a slow smile of her own crept across her lips. The wily actor might think he had her over a barrel, but Penny had him just where she wanted to. This cinematographic diversion was the perfect way to cast to one side all thoughts of him prancing across the stage in
The Pirates
of Penzance
. Instead, Monty could satisfy his thespian desires on the screen in the role of the villainous earl.

Smiling sweetly, Penelope finally nodded her head.

“It certainly sounds like it,” she replied. Penny turned her head towards the filmmaker, her eyelashes quivering as she fixed him with an awestruck gaze. “We really must see this wondrous invention for ourselves.”