Chapter 5 – On Stage

Shakespeare wrote 'Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,' and I certainly felt so much better after that great meal and a decent night's sleep. The Bard was right, and as I finished my toilet the next morning and prepared for the day, most of the concerns I felt last night were gone, or at least pushed well back into the recess of my mind.

I spent some time on my makeup, to make myself look, as well as feel chipper, younger, lighter, as well as ready for anything.

Timothy Gest, the pub's morning clerk, had laid out a rather nice breakfast buffet for the guests at The Crab and Lobster. I tucked into a hot porridge with whole grain toast slathered in fresh butter and orange marmalade, a glass of orange juice, plus a small portion of melon and raspberries and as I ate I felt ready to face the world.

Timothy stuck his head out of the kitchen. "Miss Glasson? I'm just bringing out a fresh teapot. Want some?" He was a tall skinny fellow, brown haired and beetled browed, about twenty, and about ten years back he was one of my students. A not that bright of a boy and his family was not well off. I knew he'd had few prospects until John hired him and I could see that the job had done wonders for him. He was quite chipper greeting the guests, clearing away, and pouring coffee and tea.

Timothy was a good lad and I remember him as a hard worker at school, even when the results didn't always meet his expectations. He'd shrug at those times as if to say, well next time.

"Sure. Thank you."

He flew over and filled my cup. "They call this a breakfast tea, but it tastes the same to me whether I drink it morning or afternoon!"

"I think you may be right."

"Don't you look nice today? I hear you're going up to the school for that position they have open."

The gossip telegraph was working well. "Yes, I am."

"That dress suits you Miss Glasson… and the uhm… congrats, by the way."

I'd chosen a green and white print with an orange cardigan, unbuttoned. The orange perfectly matched the spots in the centers of some of the flowers on the dress. Some might not expect that those colors would go together, but I thought they suited me. I was wearing my hair in a ponytail and it was very glossy today. I smoothed a wrinkle along the side of my abdomen. "Thank you and yes I am going to the school today. Hope to move back."

"So how did you find London?"

"Oh, you know… just London."

"Well, I'm certain Portwenn will suit you a lot better that all that bustle in the city. I can't stand the place, myself."

I nodded. "It can be a strain."

A group of tourists came downstairs just then and he excused himself.

I finished my breakfast and went to my room to brush teeth and use mouthwash. As I was gargling orange-colored Listerine I realized that if I lived to be ninety, I'd likely still be doing this every morning. I spat the residue into the sink and looked up after wiping my mouth.

"Thanks, Martin! Thanks a whole bunch!" His smarmy comments about dental and oral odors had sunk in, like it or not, the day after he'd performed emergency abdominal surgery on Peter Cronk and saved his life in the bargain in that rocking ambulance. It was right then Louisa, old girl, right then, you knew that he… Doctor Ellingham… Martin was special. A sighed escaped my lips.

I finished my preparations and picked up my handbag, taking one last look at myself, front and side, in the wall mirror. Hair looked great, makeup was perfect, the eyeliner and eyelashes well applied, and my lipstick was non-smeared. The dress and cardi fit me well, and my black flats had enough arch support so I could wear them for almost the whole day.

I looked good and I felt better. "Louisa, you can do this. Go get them!" I said to my reflection and the pretty pregnant woman in the mirror smiled back. I took one last look, front and side.

My hands cupped my belly. "And thank you too, Martin for this little person," I said and meant it.

Timothy saw me coming across the pub dining room and he walked me to the door. "Miss Glasson, break a leg."

"Why, thank you Timothy."

He smiled. "I remember when we did plays and skits in school, you'd always say that when we were ready to perform."

"Why, yes, I did. Didn't I? What were you that one year? Can't remember."

"I was Father Christmas, miss," he grinned then. "And the next year in the Christmas Pageant I was an angel."

"You must have been, what about ten?"

"Yeah, I was. Now as I said, break a leg!"

"Am I going onto the stage, then?"

He opened the outside door and kept smiling. "Yes, Miss, you are! Go through. And let me know how things work out!"

I stepped through the door into a brilliant Cornwall spring day and it felt like all the spotlights were shining on me.