Lilian Jackson Braun - Cat 12 Who Knew A Cardinal

His first thought was: Dammit! They've caught me in my pajamas and old robe! His second thought was: They look like hoboes themselves. It was true. The troupe wore backstage attire: tattered jeans, faded sweatshirts, washed out plaids, bedraggled sweaters, and grimy sneakers - a drastic change from the court finery of an hour before.

"Happy barn warming!" they shouted when they saw Qwilleran in the doorway. He reached around the doorjamb and threw a master switch that illuminated the entire interior. Uplights and downlights were concealed artfully in timbers and under balconies. Then he stepped aside and let them file into the barn - all forty of them!

If their eyes popped and their jaws dropped, it was for good reason. The walls of the main floor were the original stone foundation, a random stack of boulders held together by hidden mortar - craggy as a grotto. Overhead were massive pine timbers, some of them twelve inches square. Sandblasted to their original honey color, they contrasted softly with the newly insulated walls, painted white. And in the center of it all stood the contemporary fireplace, a huge white cube with three chubby cylindrical white flues rising to the center of the roof.

For the first time in anyone's memory the members of the Pickax Theatre Club were speechless. They wandered about the main level in a trance, gazing upward at the interlocking braces and beams, then downward at the earthen tile floor where furniture was arranged in conversation groups on Moroccan rugs. Then they collected their wits and all talked at once.

"Do you actually live here, Qwill?"

"I utterly don't believe it!"

"Neat! Really neat! Must've cost plenty!"

"Did Dennis do all of this? He's a genius!"

"Man, there's room for three grand pianos and two billiard tables."

"Look at the size of those beams! They don't grow trees like that any more."

"Swell place for a hanging."

"Qwill, darling, it's shattering! Would you like to time-share?"

Qwilleran had met the entire troupe at one time or another, and some of them were his favorite acquaintances in Pickax:

Larry Lanspeak, owner of the local department store, for one. He had auditioned for Cardinal Wolsey but landed the King Henry role, and his slight build required fifteen pounds of padding to match the girth of the well-fed monarch.

Fran Brodie, Qwilleran's interior designer and also daughter of the police chief. She auditioned for Queen Katharine but was ultimately cast as the beauteous Anne Boleyn. Perfect casting, Qwilleran thought. During the coronation scene he had been unable to take his eyes from her, and he was afraid Polly would hear his heavy breathing.

Carol Lanspeak, president of the club and everyone's friend. She was another capable aspirant for Queen Katharine and was deeply disappointed when director VanBrook picked her as his assistant and understudy for the queen.

Susan Exbridge, antique dealer and recent divorcee. She looked younger than her forty years and desperately wanted to play Anne Boleyn. When the director assigned her to do the Old Lady, she was furious but quickly recovered upon learning that the Old Lady had some bawdy lines that might steal the show.

Derek Cuttlebrink, busboy at the Old Stone Mill. He played five minor roles and was outstanding - not for his acting but for his bean-pole stature. Derek was six feet seven and still growing. Each time he made an entrance as another character, the audience whispered, "Here he comes again."

Dennis Hough, building contractor and new man in town. He, too, wanted to play Cardinal Wolsey but had to settle for a lesser role. Nevertheless, as the Duke of Buckingham, unjustly sentenced to death, he made a farewell speech that plunged the audience into tears night after night.

Eddington Smith, dealer in used books. This shy little old man played Cardinal Campeius, although no one could hear a word he said. It hardly mattered, because Cardinal Wolsey had all the best lines.

Hixie Rice, advertising manager for the local newspaper. As volunteer publicist for the club, she sold enough ads in the playbill to defray the cost of the sumptuous court costumes.

Wally Toddwhistle, the talented young taxidermist. He built stage sets for Theatre Club productions, and for Henry VIII he worked miracles with used lumber, spray paint, and bedsheets.

Also present was the director, Hilary VanBrook, who wandered about by himself and had little or nothing to say. The rest of the company was sky-high after the heady experience of closing night: the standing ovation, the flowers, and the general relief that the whole thing was over. Now they were reacting noisily. The Siamese watched the crowd from a catwalk and twitched noses in recognition of the cheese, pepperoni, and anchovy wafting upward. The troupe appeared to be starved. They wolfed the pizza and washed it down with cold drinks and a strong brew from Qwilleran's computerized coffeemaker, all the while talking nonstop: