Farriers' Lane

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“ISN’T HE SUPERB?” Caroline Ellison whispered to her daughter Charlotte. “He conveys so much feeling with the simplest word or a gesture!”

They were side by side in the red plush box in the theater in the semidarkness. It was late autumn and since there was no heating the air was cold. By the end of the first act the press of the crowd had warmed the stalls, but up here in the first tier of boxes it was different. The movement of applause and the stamping of feet then had helped, but now the drama was tense again, and the buzz of excitement shivery.

The stage was brilliant, the actors vivid figures against the romantic, plyboard scenery. One in particular commanded Caroline’s attention: a man of just over average height, slender, with a sensitive, aquiline face full of humor and imagination, yet haunted with all the possibilities of tragedy. He was Joshua Fielding, principal actor of the company, and Charlotte was now quite certain he was the reason her mother had chosen this particular performance.

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