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once said –”
    “God damn Macready and the ilk that fawn over him!” Mr. Hicks shouted. “Your beloved Mr. Macready has announced his impending retirement at the end of the season, has he not?”
    “He has.”
    “And none too soon.”
    Mr. Hicks and Mr. Watts, who have heretofore managed to sequester their animosity, were standing toe-to-toe. It was left to me to do what stage managers must do, in short, to put out fires. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” I said, as calmly as I could. “I think we must defer to the wishes of the playwright himself who is, in this case, Mr. Farquhar Pratt. His stage direction, for Joseph Brant, is ‘with a start’.”
    Friday, 20 September 1850
    A frightful incident in the theatre this evening.
    It occurred during the interlude between My Own Blue Bell and Lady Hatton , when the Parisian Phenomenon came out to dance a pas de deux with young Master West standing in as her partner. The stagehands had been instructed to increase the intensity of the footlights due to the fact that, a week ago, the Parisian Phenomenon and her expensive pink tutu could hardly be seen during the same number.
    Tonight, as the curtain went up, Mr. Alexander Hasbrough the gasman fired his footlights to their full so that the open flame could be seen above the footlight shields. He had been warned that another dance in the dark would not be tolerated, and because his gas table is below the stage, he was not able to witness at first hand the fruits of his labours.
    Accompanied by woodland nymphs – local children who were paid twopence each for their pains – Master West and the Parisian Phenomenon leapt and twirled to the forestage so that she could be seen in all her pink glory. The nymphs had been strictly commanded to remain against the back wall in various grandiose poses and not to enter the lighted area. Which was all for the best as things turned out.
    Whilst involved in a particularly strenuous twirl, the Parisian Phenomenon’s pink crinoline caught flame from one of the gas lamps. At first unaware that her attire was billowing smoke, the Parisian Phenomenon danced on. At last, Master West stopped in mid-twirl, pointed at her and shouted, “Fire!” He valiantly commenced patting her in familiar places with his hands, trying to stamp out the flame but without success.
    I had no choice but to access the safety blankets back stage and to rush to the Parisian Phenomenon’s aid. I threw the blankets around her. At that moment, Mr. Smith also appeared from the prompter’s side with a pail of water and doused us all.
    The flame was at last extinguished, and the Parisian Phenomenon left the stage of her own volition, with only a few minor burns on her hands and forearms. It was lucky that her hair had not also caught fire. Mrs. Wilton summoned a doctor, who poured cold water over the affected areas and declared that the Parisian Phenomenon would be “right as rain” within the fortnight.
    It was nevertheless a frightful event, and Mrs. Wilton made her displeasure clear to Mr. Hasbrough. “Are you trying to maim our finest asset?” she asked him as the evening drew to a close.
    “Ma’am,” he said, “I was only doing what I was told to do.”
    “You must do better than that, Mr. Hasbrough. You must do as you are told, but you must also exercise some judgment.”
    Monday, 23 September 1850
    Mr. Farquhar Pratt has spent the past week at his residence in Bethnal Green, resting, as they say. I am given to understand that no doctor’s services have been procured as Pratty derides their work as mere quackery and as he is in no position financially to afford one. Mr. Wilton had offered to pay for a doctor in this case – an honourable offer, I might add – but even this much assistance was declined.
    I know that Mr. Wilton has not been looking forward to the eventuality of a meeting with Mr. Farquhar Pratt, but the urgency of such a meeting is apparent. All through the week, Mr. Wilton has been seen