There is Nothing like a Dame A novel by Bronwen Welsh Copyright© 2017, 2018 & 2019 Bronwen Welsh A sequel to 'The Might-Have-Been Girl' and 'All the World's a Stage'

Chapter 48   A narrow escape

During performances, it was my custom to have a sandwich, sweet biscuit and a cup of tea delivered to the dressing room during the interval in order to give me an energy boost before tackling the second half of the play. It was waiting for me as usual so after greeting Pauline who was reading a novel but seemed a bit on edge, I sat down and consumed them. When I finished my cup of tea, it was ten minutes before the start of the next act. I stood up and suddenly the room started to spin and I sat down suddenly.

“Are you alright, Harriet?” said Pauline, and she sounded genuinely concerned.

“I think I must have stood up too suddenly,” I replied. “I'll give myself a couple of minutes and I should be alright by then.”

I wondered if the sugar hit had affected me, although it had never done so before. After a few minutes I stood up cautiously and for a moment felt that everything was alright, but then the room started spinning again and I felt even worse than before. I gingerly lowered myself onto the chair and started to feel nauseous.

“What's the matter, Harriet?” said Pauline and her voice sounded strange, like it was echoing in a tunnel.

“I don't know. I don't feel well, can you get me a bowl, please? I think I'm going to be sick,” I managed to say. “And can you ring Don the Stage Manager? I don't think I can go on.”

Pauline did as I asked and a couple of minutes later, Don appeared. When he saw me he looked very concerned. “What's the matter, Harriet?” he asked, echoing Pauline.

“I don't know. I feel terrible. I need to lie down,” I managed to get out. There was a couch in the corner of the dressing room and he and Pauline helped me to walk over to it and I lay down, my head still spinning. I was clutching the bowl but didn't vomit, although it might have been better if I had done so.

Don glanced at his watch. “The next act is due to start, I think you will have to take over, Pauline,” he said.

“Yes Don, I think I'll have to, but Harriet needs a doctor, don't you think?” said Pauline.

What happened from then on is very vague, so I've had to rely on accounts given to me by other people. By now, news of my illness had spread like wildfire and several of the women in the cast and the dressers had appeared. Shortly afterwards Gwynneth also arrived. Don left me with them while he hurried to the auditorium to make an announcement from the stage that the next act would be delayed due to the illness of a cast member. He concluded with those immortal words 'Is there a doctor in the house?' Fortunately for me, there was. A young woman stood up and Don asked her to meet him at the front of the stage. She introduced herself as Dr Jane Dunn, a local GP and Don led her to my dressing room.

I was only vaguely aware of someone holding my wrist, taking my pulse and then, making use of a stethoscope which the Props Department thoughtfully supplied, she checked my heart. We didn't have a sphygmomanometer in the theatre, so she couldn't take my blood pressure.

“Does she ever take drugs?” she asked.

“Certainly not!” exclaimed Don. “I've known her for years and she's absolutely not into that scene.”

“I only asked because she appears to have suffered a drug overdose. I suggest you call an ambulance and tell them it's urgent.”

Meanwhile, Pauline was behind a screen putting on her costume, and one of the makeup artists helped her to get ready; the show must go on. Don went back on the stage to tell the audience that due to illness I could no longer perform and that Miss Pauline Handscomb would take over the rôle of Katherine for the rest of the performance. I can imagine that would have caused a stir.

Meanwhile, some of the women helped me to take off my costume. In fact, they really did it all, as by now I was close to unconscious. They managed to get my dressing gown on just before the ambulance arrived a few minutes later and parked outside the Stage Door. The paramedics brought in a trolley and Dr Jane told them of her suspected diagnosis. By now my heart rate was dangerously low and my blood pressure dropping so in consultation with Dr Dunn, they gave me an injection of adrenaline before loading me onto the trolley and taking me to the ambulance.

Unfortunately, Stratford Hospital does not have an Emergency Department, the nearest one being at Warwick. Dr Dunn kindly offered to come with me and soon the ambulance was on its way, siren blaring and lights flashing. At normal speeds, the trip would take around twenty minutes, but the ambulance made it in less than fifteen. The doctor and the paramedic called Jane kept a close watch on me, giving me oxygen and monitoring my vital signs as the ambulance raced along the road.

When we arrived at the hospital, I was wheeled into a cubicle and subjected to the indignity of having my stomach pumped out, although I was now unconscious so totally unaware of the treatment being given to me. I was also put onto a drip and a respirator. I hate to think what I must have looked like.

It was some hours later that I opened my eyes and realised that someone was holding my hand. Turning I saw Reggie sitting by the bed.

“Hello darling, welcome back,” he said, his voice choking with emotion, and his cheeks wet with tears.

As my mouth was still covered by a respirator mask, he had to lean forward to hear my response. “Why, where have I been?”

Reggie managed a smile, but I saw another tear roll down his cheek. “Having sweet dreams, I hope,” he replied.

Another figure appeared, this time wearing a white coat.

“I'm Doctor Norton and I'm glad to see you are awake, Mrs Staunton,” he said. “I'm removing your mask for a minute so that I can talk to you. I understand you are an actress in Stratford and it seems you took an overdose of sedatives. I'm assured that you wouldn't have done this deliberately, so I'd like to ask what you can remember of when you first started to feel ill.”

It was starting to come back to me, so I described how I had my tea, sandwich and biscuit as usual and then felt disorientated and nauseous.

“I don't remember much after that,” I said.

“I'm trying to work out where the sedative came from. Did your tea taste funny?” he asked.

“Now you mention it, it did, but I thought they had given me Earl Grey instead of English Breakfast, and there wasn't time to ask for another cup, so I drank it. But how on earth did sedative get into it?”

“I'm a doctor, not a policeman,” he said, which made me realised that he thought someone had deliberately set out to poison me, but why?

My brain was kicking into gear and with it I started to have concerns.

“I do hope that my presence here is kept from the press. I would hate to be the subject of a sensational and totally untrue story,” I said. I had visions of a front-page headline in one of the tabloids saying something like 'FAMOUS ACTRESS IN DRUG OVERDOSE', followed by a piece of pure fiction implying a feud between me and some other actress. The problem with tabloids is that they will do anything for a story and truth is an optional extra. If they are finally caught out, their apology, if it happens at all, will be a small paragraph buried away on page forty, just enough to avoid being sued.

“You need have no worries on that score,” said Dr Norton. “Patient confidentiality is impressed on all our staff.”

I confess that didn't totally allay my fears; an anonymous tipoff for a discreet payment might result in a reporter and photographer waiting for me at the hospital's entrance.

“Am I well enough to leave while it's still dark?” I asked.

“I'd prefer you to stay for some hours at least, maybe a day, so that we can be sure you are over the effects of the drug,” he said.

I could see the sense in what he said so I didn't argue. The clock on the wall said three o'clock, so I said “Perhaps I could leave about five o'clock if you think I'm alright. At least it will still be dark then. My husband can drive me.”

Dr Norton looked doubtful, but finally agreed, if only to get my mask on again and stop me getting agitated, I suspect. In the end, when five o'clock came, he felt that I shouldn't leave and I had to agree with him as I still didn't feel well; at least I was moved to a single room where I could have privacy. One advantage was that I had been admitted under my married name, so that lessened the chance of anyone realising who I was. We came to an agreement that I would stay until Sunday evening and then leave by a rear door of the hospital, 'just in case'. This might sound like I was getting paranoid, but it wasn't just my reputation that I was protecting but also that of the Company.

On Sunday morning there was a telephone call from Duncan Morgan to enquire how I was recovering. Reggie took it and reassured him that I was much better. Sensibly he didn't ask for any more details but said he would like to see me as soon as I returned to Stratford and felt well enough to come to the theatre.

It was about then that I realised that I didn't have my handbag. It contained my car keys, phone, purse and cards so I felt rather concerned. Gwynneth had given me her mobile number in case of emergencies, so I thought I was justified in ringing her. She was very pleased to hear from me and also that I was feeling a lot better. I was relieved when she told me that my handbag was locked up in the theatre's safe.

“I must tell you, Harriet, that when we heard from the doctor that you had taken a drug overdose, I contacted Duncan and after he arrived, we searched the dressing room while Pauline was onstage, including her handbag and yours, but we found nothing. Unfortunately, someone had taken your cup back to the kitchen and it had been washed, so it couldn't be checked.”

After she rang off, I phoned Dale to tell him what had happened. He and Frances were worried sick when I didn't come home, but by the time they phoned the theatre, everyone had gone home. They had even phoned the local hospital, but of course, they knew nothing.

Reggie and I whiled away the day chatting and watching daytime television after I was taken off the respirator. He went to the hospital cafeteria for meals while I ate the food provided, which I have to say was much better than I expected. Hospital food has a bad reputation which is not always deserved.

Partway through the day, I was taken off the drip as my regular 'obs' were back to normal. In a rather 'cloak and dagger' operation which appealed to my theatrical spirit, at nine o'clock, when it was dark, I was formally discharged and led through a rabbit warren of passages, through the kitchens and out into a parking lot where Reggie had his car waiting for me. Having arrived at the hospital in my underwear and a theatre dressing gown, that is the way I left. Naturally enough, when Reggie was contacted with the news about me, the last thing on his mind would have been to bring me any clothes. There was no sign of any reporters or photographers, thank goodness.

We drove back to Stratford without incident. Dale and Frances were naturally very pleased to see me arrive back at the apartment. They were kind enough not to pester me with questions and understood when I expressed a desire just to go to bed.

The following morning, after a good night's sleep, something which is very hard to achieve in hospital, Reggie asked me if he should stay for another day, but I assured him that I would be alright. I knew that I would have to have the meeting with the theatre administration that Duncan Morgan had requested after what had happened, so after breakfast, Reggie drove me to the theatre and then headed off to York.

I walked up to the Administration area and Penny greeted me. “Harriet, how are you feeling?”

“A lot better than I did on Saturday night, Penny; that was really scary.”

“I'll let Duncan know you're here and call Gwynneth,” she said, and after a brief conversation with him, she made the call and said, “She'll be here in a minute.”

After Gwynneth arrived, I was ushered into Duncan's office.

“How are you feeling, Harriet?” he asked, standing up as I entered the room and I replied that I was much better. He, Gwynneth and I settled into comfortable chairs.

He looked rather uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, but there's a question I have to ask; have you ever taken sedatives or recreational drugs?”

I was expecting this, so I didn't bristle, but just quietly answered that I'd never taken either.

“I thought as much, but I had to ask. I hope you understand?”

“Of course I do,” I replied. “It's a mystery to me how I happened to take the sedative. The doctor at the hospital thinks it was in my tea at Interval.”

“I don't suppose you have any idea who put it there?”

“No idea at all,” I replied, which wasn't strictly true. I had been reminded of Reggie's joke about Pauline spiking my drink. What if she had? But I had no proof and couldn't accuse her without it.

“We've spoken to the staff in the cafeteria kitchen who prepared the tea and food. We just told them you had food poisoning, which is true, but not about the sedative. They said they did nothing different to their normal routine; we also spoke to Pauline and of course, she professed total ignorance. She said she had been so bored that she had walked around backstage for a while before the Interval, and when she came back to the dressing room a few minutes before you arrived, the food and drink were already there. We didn't want to make a big thing about it in case it gets in the papers. A reporter rang and said he had heard about you not completing the show, but we told them you'd had a stomach upset, so it was a 'non-story'.

“One thing we did do, as Gwynneth told you, was search the dressing room and your handbags, which reminds me, here it is. I hope you don't mind that we searched it, we had to exclude all possibilities.”

He looked hard at me. “I know there is no proof, but do you think it's possible that Pauline was responsible?”

“All I can say is that she has become increasingly irritable about not getting a chance to perform. I think she believes it is a waste of her talent. I suppose that incapacitating me would have been one way of achieving it, but it's a very extreme action to take, so I wouldn't like to accuse her without any proof. Even if she did do it, she might not have intended it to affect me so badly.”

Gwynneth spoke now. “Harriet did suggest that I give Pauline a matinée, and I chose not to do it. I do regret offering her the understudy position, she's obviously not suited for it.”

“So what do you plan to do now?” I asked.

“You can still have your refreshments at Interval of course, but the kitchen supervisor will oversee their preparation, and they won't be delivered to your dressing room until you are there and ring for them. The alternative would be for you to bring your own food and your drink in a Thermos and have them locked away until you are ready for them. What do you think?”

“This might be a 'one-off'; after all, if it happened again, I assume you would have to bring in the police,” I replied. “I'm sure I can trust the kitchen, and I'm also sure I'll be alright to perform tonight.”

So that is how we left it. Before I left the office, I thought of something else.

“By the way, how did Pauline go in the second half of the performance?”

“She was quite good, but not nearly as good as you of course,” said Gwynneth.

That evening when I arrived in the dressing room, Pauline was already there. When she saw me she looked decidedly nervous, or was it guilty?

“Hello Harriet, how are you feeling?” she said.

I decided to give her a scare and see how she reacted. “I'm a lot better than I was last Saturday. I'm told it was touch and go whether they got me to the hospital in time. I'm very grateful to the doctor and paramedics for keeping me alive.”

Pauline looked shocked. “But the hospital is only five minutes down the road.”

“The Stratford hospital is, but they don't have an Emergency Department, so they had to take me to Warwick, that's about twenty minutes away.”

I noticed that Pauline was white as a sheet. “I never knew that,” she muttered.

“Anyway, 'all's well that ends well', as the Bard says. By the way, how did your performance go? I must thank you for stepping in for me.”

Pauline looked startled at my change of topic. “It went quite well, after all that's what understudies are for.”

I smiled. “I'll suggest to Gwynneth again that you get a complete performance. You realise it's not my decision, but I'll do my best for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, looking a bit sheepish.

There were no further incidents. Perhaps whoever it was, whether Pauline or someone else, realised that they had taken an enormous risk and could possibly have faced a manslaughter or murder charge.

Gwynneth decided that Pauline could be given a matinée. There was one coming up for local secondary school students who were studying the play for their exams. The irony was that a few days beforehand, Pauline caught a bad cold, losing her voice, so I had to perform after all.

She did finally perform a matinée just before the season ended, but Gwynneth privately told me that she would not employ her again. “She thinks she is better than she is,” she said.

I did hear that after failing to get any more work in England (word gets around), Pauline returned to Australia. After that, she seems to have dropped off the radar.

To be continued.

Author's note: My sincere thanks to my dear friend Alison whose suggestion provided the inspiration for this chapter.