Paddington Complete Novels. Michael Bond

      “Crikey!” said Jonathan. “It’s fallen on someone’s head!” He looked over the edge of the box. “It’s that man with the bald head. He looks jolly cross.”

      “Oh, Paddington!” Mrs Brown looked despairingly at him. “Do you have to bring marmalade sandwiches to the theatre?”

      “It’s all right,” said Paddington, cheerfully. “I’ve some more in the other pocket if anyone wants one. They’re a bit squashed, I’m afraid, because I sat on them in the car.”

      “There seems to be some sort of a row going on down below,” said Mr Brown, craning his head to look over the edge. “Some chap just waved his fist at me. And what’s all this about marmalade sandwiches?” Mr Brown was a bit slow on the uptake sometimes.

      “Nothing, dear,” said Mrs Brown, hastily. She decided to let the matter drop. It was much easier in the long run.

      In any case, Paddington was having a great struggle with himself over some opera glasses. He had just seen a little box in front of him marked OPERA GLASSES. TWENTY PENCE. Eventually, after a great deal of thought, he unlocked his suitcase and from a secret compartment withdrew twenty pence.

      “I don’t think much of these,” he said, a moment later, looking through them at the audience. “Everyone looks smaller.”

      “You’ve got them the wrong way round, silly,” said Jonathan.

      “Well, I still don’t think much of them,” said Paddington, turning them round. “I wouldn’t have bought them if I’d known. Still,” he added, after a moment’s thought, “they might come in useful next time.”

      Just as he began to speak the overture came to an end and the curtain rose. The scene was the living-room of a large house, and Sir Sealy Bloom, in the part of the village squire, was pacing up and down. There was a round of applause from the audience.

      “You don’t take them home,” whispered Judy. “You have to put them back when you leave.”

      “WHAT!” cried Paddington, in a loud voice. Several calls of ‘hush’ came from the darkened theatre as Sir Sealy Bloom paused and looked pointedly in the direction of the Browns’ box. “Do you mean to say…” words failed Paddington for the moment. “Twenty pence!” he said bitterly. “That’s two buns’ worth.” He turned his gaze on Sir Sealy Bloom.

      Sir Sealy Bloom looked rather irritable. He didn’t like first nights, and this one in particular had started badly. He had a nasty feeling about it. He much preferred playing the hero, where he had the sympathy of the audience, and in this play he was the villain. Being the first night of the play, he wasn’t at all sure of some of his lines. To make matters worse, he had arrived at the theatre only to discover that the prompt boy was missing and there was no one else to take his place. Then there was the disturbance in the stalls just before the curtain went up. Something to do with a marmalade sandwich, so the stage manager had said. Of course, that was all nonsense, but still, it was very disturbing. And then there was this noisy crowd in the box. He sighed to himself. It was obviously going to be one of those nights.

      But if Sir Sealy Bloom’s heart was not in the play, Paddington’s certainly was. He soon forgot about his wasted twenty pence and devoted all his attention to the plot. He decided quite early on that he didn’t like Sir Sealy Bloom and he stared at him hard through his opera glasses. He followed his every move and when, at the end of the first act, Sir Sealy, in the part of the hard-hearted father, turned his daughter out into the world without a penny, Paddington stood up on his chair and waved his programme indignantly at the stage.

      Paddington was a surprising bear in many ways and he had a strong sense of right and wrong. As the curtain came down he placed his opera glasses firmly on the ledge and climbed off his seat.

      “Are you enjoying it, Paddington?” asked Mr Brown.

      “It’s very interesting,” said Paddington. He had a determined note to his voice and Mrs Brown looked at him sharply. She was beginning to recognise that tone and it worried her.

      “Where are you going, dear?” she asked, as he made for the door of the box.

      “Oh, just for a walk,” said Paddington, vaguely.

      “Well, don’t be too long,” she called, as the door closed behind him. “You don’t want to miss any of the second act.”

      “Oh, don’t fuss, Mary,” said Mr Brown. “I expect he just wants to stretch his legs or something. He’s probably gone out to the cloakroom.”

      But at that moment Paddington was going, not in the direction of the cloakroom, but towards a door leading to the back of the theatre. It was marked PRIVATE. ARTISTS ONLY. As he pushed the door open and passed through, he immediately found himself in an entirely different world. There were no red plush seats; everything was very bare. Lots of ropes hung down from the roof, pieces of scenery were stacked against the walls, and everyone seemed in a great hurry. Normally Paddington would have been most interested in everything, but now he had a purposeful look on his face.

      Seeing a man bending over some scenery, he walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said. “Can you tell me where the man is?”

      The scene hand went on working. “Man?” he said. “What man?”

      “The man,” said Paddington, patiently.”The nasty man.”

      “Oh, you mean Sir Sealy.” The scene hand pointed towards a long corridor. “He’s in his dressing-room. You’d better not go disturbing him ’cause he’s not in a very good mood.” He looked up. “Hey!” he cried. “You’re not supposed to be in here. Who let you in?”

      Paddington was too far away to answer even if he had heard. He was already half-way up the corridor, looking closely at all the doors. Eventually he came to one with a large star on it and the words SIR SEALY BLOOM in big gold letters. Paddington drew a deep breath and then knocked loudly. There was no reply, so he knocked again. Still there was no reply, and so, very cautiously, he pushed open the door with his paw.

      “Go away!” said a booming voice. “I don’t want to see anyone.”

      Paddington peered round the door. Sir Sealy Bloom was lying stretched out on a long couch. He looked tired and cross. He opened one eye and gazed at Paddington.

      “I’m not signing any autographs,” he growled.

      “I don’t want your autograph,” said Paddington, fixing him with a hard stare. “I wouldn’t want your autograph if I had my autograph book, and I haven’t got my autograph book so there!”

      Sir Sealy sat up. “You don’t want my autograph?” he said, in a surprised voice. “But everyone always wants my autograph!”

      “Well, I don’t,” said Paddington. “I’ve come to tell you to take your daughter back!” He gulped the last few words. The great man seemed to have grown to about twice the size he had been on the stage, and he looked as if he was going to explode at any minute.

      Sir Sealy clutched his forehead. “You want me to take my daughter back?” he said at last.

      “That’s right,” said Paddington, firmly. “And if you don’t, I expect she can come and stay with Mr and Mrs Brown.”

      Sir Sealy Bloom ran his hand distractedly through his hair and then pinched himself. “Mr and Mrs Brown,” he repeated in a dazed voice. He looked wildly round the room and then dashed to the door. “Sarah!” he called, in a loud voice. “Sarah, come in here at once!” He backed round the room until he had placed the couch between himself and Paddington. “Keep away, bear!” he said, dramatically, and then peered at Paddington, for he was rather short-sighted. “You are a bear, aren’t you?” he added.

      “That’s right,” said Paddington. “From Darkest Peru!”

      Sir Sealy looked at his woollen hat. “Well then,”