Little Stars, Page 3

  Then we went on our way, relieved but still down-hearted. We were in a much poorer part of Fenstone, which wasn’t really a good idea. A weasel-faced old man eyed our penny-farthing and sidled up to us, asking if he could examine our marvellous bicycling machine.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, we’re in a hurry,’ I said firmly. ‘No! Absolutely not! Leave go or I’ll call a policeman!’

  He laughed unpleasantly – it was unlikely a policeman would wander down such dismal streets – and seized hold of the handlebars, elbowing Diamond sharply out of the way. That was enough. I was wearing the beautiful hard leather boots I’d worn in the circus ring. I raised my leg swiftly and kicked him extremely hard in his softest and most vulnerable place. He collapsed, groaning, and we started running back towards the town centre.

  I knew we were safe when we got to wider streets. In fact, we soon found ourselves in the most stylish part of town, with rows of interesting shops. We urgently needed to find lodgings and prepare our acts for the Cavalcade, but we both became momentarily distracted. Diamond leaned her forehead against the window of a toyshop, dazzled by the dolls, gazing longingly into their blue china eyes.

  ‘They’re just like real children!’ She pointed at their jointed legs, their dainty knitted stockings, their kid leather boots. ‘Do you think they can walk?’ she wondered.

  ‘No, they’re only dolls,’ I told her.

  ‘But such dolls!’ said Diamond. ‘I wish Maybelle had little leather boots.’

  Maybelle was her own home-made doll. I had sewn features on her plain rag face and fashioned her a little outfit, but of course she wasn’t anywhere near as fine as these china beauties.

  ‘If only I could have one of these dolls,’ said Diamond. But then, conscious of Maybelle stuffed into our suitcase, she said loudly, ‘But I will always love Maybelle best because she is my first born.’

  I suddenly remembered the rag baby my foster mother Peg had made me when I was tiny. She had done her best, but she was not a fine seamstress. The rag baby had ill-matching limbs and a lumpy face, but I remembered loving that ugly little doll as truly as any mother loved her child. It was such a shock when I arrived at the Foundling Hospital clutching my cloth baby to have her snatched from me by Matron Peters. She burned my baby, along with all my Sunday best clothes from home.

  I’d grown up in the Foundling Hospital without any toys at all, and Diamond’s early childhood had been equally bleak. We gazed at the toys in the window with awe, coveting each and every one, even though I at least was long past the age for such things. But I still longed to sink my hands in a tub of glass marbles, ached to fly a red-and-yellow kite with a long tail, and yearned to sit on the great rocking horse I saw stabled at the back of the shop.

  ‘Can we go into the shop, just to look?’ Diamond asked.

  I hesitated. But then I heard a church clock strike three. ‘No, there isn’t time. And they’d probably chase us away. But I promise that when we’re stars at the Cavalcade, we will come back here with my first wage packet and I’ll buy you a present. I probably won’t be able to afford a china doll just yet, but perhaps I could buy Maybelle a pair of boots.’

  ‘Oh, you would absolutely love that, wouldn’t you, Maybelle?’ said Diamond, talking into the suitcase.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ she said again, in a tiny Maybelle voice.

  We carried on along the street, hoping that when the shops petered out there might be suitable lodgings nearby. But then I was stopped in my tracks by another shop. It was a small fashion emporium. GIBSON’S GOWNS said the sign above the door, in discreet gilt lettering. There was a window either side of the door, with just one finely dressed mannequin in each.

  I was startled to see such a sparse display. I was used to shops stuffed with a hundred and one items.

  ‘Just look, Diamond!’ I said.

  Diamond looked obediently, but didn’t seem impressed. ‘The windows are nearly empty,’ she said dismissively.

  ‘Yes, because this is a very special, elegant shop,’ I said, as if I knew all about it. ‘They don’t need an enormous vulgar display. They are content to let each gown speak for itself. And so it does. Eloquently!’

  Diamond wrinkled her nose. ‘Why are you talking so silly, Hetty?’ she said.

  ‘Well, you’re just a little girl. I don’t suppose you could understand,’ I said.

  I felt I understood, even if it was just by instinct. Each mannequin stood serenely in her own window, white arms outstretched as if bestowing queenly blessings on passers-by. The one on the left was dressed in a blue and violet gown with extraordinary huge sleeves. They made such a statement that the rest of the dress was restrained, almost subdued. It was breathtakingly effective.

  The one on the right was a deep emerald green, almost the exact shade of the velvet gown I’d once made, and then cut up in an attempt to fashion myself a mermaid’s costume. At the time I’d thought it a masterpiece, but I could now see that it had been clumsily designed and cobbled together. This green gown was silk, with an iridescent gleam as it caught the sunshine. It was styled in a perfect hourglass that would make any woman’s waist look minute.

  I thought how that bright green would set off my red hair, though I knew I was being ridiculous. I could tell by the sweep of the skirts that the gown would be at least nine inches too long on me, and the style and stitching told me that it would be extremely expensive, beyond my pocket even if I got star billing at the Cavalcade.

  I sighed wistfully and wouldn’t budge, though Diamond was pulling at my arm, starting to get bored. Then the door to Gibson’s Gowns opened with a musical trill of the bell, and a very stout lady peered out at me, twitching her pince-nez up her snub nose. She was dressed in severe black satin.

  I started, though I had been doing nothing wrong. She looked at me enquiringly. ‘Have you come to collect your mistress’s gown?’ she asked. Her voice was surprisingly girlish and high-pitched.

  I flushed. ‘I am not a servant, ma’am,’ I said with dignity, although I had been exactly that the year before.

  ‘Oh my dear, I do apologize. Then might I ask why you’ve been staring at my windows for the past ten minutes?’ she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

  ‘I was admiring your gowns. I have never seen anything like them before. Did you invent the new styles yourself?’ I asked.

  ‘I did, though I’m influenced by the French fashion journals,’ she said.

  ‘French fashion journals,’ I repeated. ‘Oh, where can you buy them?’

  ‘I send for them from Paris.’

  ‘Paris!’ I echoed, as awed as if she’d told me she’d sent for them from the moon.

  ‘You seem very interested in fashion.’ The woman’s small eyes peered through the pince-nez at my dress. ‘Did you make that dress yourself?’

  It was my best dress, and I’d worked hard at the stitching, but now I felt ashamed of the cotton sprigging and girlish styling.

  ‘This old thing,’ I said hurriedly, blushing.

  ‘Why, Hetty, it’s your bestest dress,’ said Diamond. ‘And this is my best dress. Isn’t it lovely?’ She held out her blue skirts and crumpled pinafore and twirled around happily.

  ‘It is indeed lovely,’ said the stout lady, and she didn’t sound as if she were mocking us. She even took two steps out onto the pavement and examined Diamond’s collar and hem.

  ‘I didn’t have a proper pattern,’ I said hastily. ‘And it’s a little tight on her now because she’s grown.’

  ‘I can grow as big as big can be now, because I’m no longer a circus girl,’ said Diamond.

  ‘Ellen-Jane!’ I said sharply.

  But the stout lady looked interested rather than shocked. ‘Circus girls!’ she said. She nodded at the penny-farthing propped against her windows. ‘Well, I guessed you were something out of the ordinary. And you have an air about you.’

  ‘An air,’ I echoed, relishing the phrase. Oh yes, I loved the idea of having my own air. I’d spent nine long yea
rs in the Foundling Hospital, clothed exactly like all the other girls, in hideous brown dresses and white caps and aprons. All my life I’d fought so hard to be myself, whether I was Hetty Feather, Sapphire Battersea or Emerald Star.

  ‘But we’re not going to be circus girls any more,’ Diamond confided. ‘We’re going to be music-hall stars.’

  ‘Are you indeed!’ The stout lady looked at me. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I said. I decided to trust her. ‘We are going to try for work at the Cavalcade.’

  She didn’t seem too shocked. ‘Well, it’s one of the finest music halls. Folk say it rivals any London hall. All the stars have appeared there.’

  ‘Have you been to see them?’ I asked.

  ‘No dear, not to a show! I’m a single lady. It wouldn’t be proper. But some of my best clients are Cavalcade artistes. As a matter of fact, I make all Mrs Ruby’s gowns,’ she said proudly.

  I raised my eyebrows as if impressed, though I’d never heard of Mrs Ruby. Perhaps she was a star performer – a fine figure of a woman, like Madame Adeline in her prime.

  ‘Does Mrs Ruby sing or perhaps dance?’ I asked.

  ‘No, no, she’s the manager of the Cavalcade,’ said Miss Gibson. ‘I’m in the middle of making her a gown now, with the modern leg-o’-mutton sleeve, the styling very similar to the gown in the window, but my apprentice has just let me down badly. Run off with a gentleman friend, the silly little fool. He’ll tire of her in a few weeks, and then where will she be? I know. Saddled with a baby, her life in ruins.’

  I felt my face flushing fiery red, because Mama had done something similar. ‘Perhaps she fell in love and couldn’t help herself,’ I said.

  ‘Love!’ The stout lady said it contemptuously, but there was a wistfulness about her expression. She was past middle age, but I suddenly saw her as a young girl, still much too stout, but her ringlets brown instead of grey, her face a smooth white moon, her eyes gleaming hopefully behind her tiny spectacles.

  I glanced at her left hand and saw she wore no rings. Did she regret her staid spinster life, or was she perfectly content with her elegant little shop and wealthy clients?

  ‘So you’re off to the Cavalcade then, girls?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, but we badly need to find lodgings first. We’ve been looking for hours for somewhere suitable,’ I said.

  ‘Hours and hours and hours,’ said Diamond, sighing.

  ‘We tried at the Station Hotel but—’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want to go there! It’s a hovel now, and not at all suitable for young girls . . .’ The lady had her head on one side, thinking. ‘I tell you what. You can have my girl’s room for tonight. It’s in the attic and there’s only one narrow bed, but I dare say you can double up.’

  ‘Oh, that would be wonderful! Thank you so much, Miss . . . Gibson? What sort of charge did you have in mind?’ I asked joyfully.

  ‘How about working for your board? Can you tack? I’ve pinned most of the pieces for Mrs Ruby’s costume. If you tack the skirts and bodice into place, I can concentrate on those tricky sleeves.’

  ‘When would you need me to do that?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, right now. There’s no point going to the Cavalcade till six thirty or seven – it will all be shut up till then,’ said Miss Gibson.

  I hesitated. Diamond and I needed to rehearse, didn’t we? But when Miss Gibson showed us a yard behind her shop where we could safely stow the penny-farthing, I set Diamond practising her routine there.

  ‘But what shall I do?’ she asked. ‘I can’t perform the human column without the Silver Tumblers. I can’t do the springboard without them. I can’t curtsy and clap if they’re not there.’

  ‘Stop saying “I can’t” all the time! Of course you can. Work out your own little solo routine. Didn’t you use to perform all by yourself for pennies?’

  ‘You mean like I did in the marketplace when I was little?’ said Diamond.

  ‘Yes, yes! If it impressed Beppo, it must have been good,’ I told her.

  Diamond’s face darkened when I mentioned his name, but she started circling the yard obediently, turning cartwheels.

  ‘The little pet!’ said Miss Gibson. ‘Now, dear, what’s your name?’

  ‘My stage name is Emerald Star. Mama’s chosen name for me was Sapphire. But most folk call me Hetty,’ I said.

  ‘Then I shall call you Hetty too. Let us see your sewing skills in action.’

  For the next three hours I sat stitching away at a very distinctive purple costume in Miss Gibson’s back room. When I’d finished all the tacking, she set me hemming, standing over me to make sure that my stitches were tiny and even, and then leaving me alone when she was satisfied.

  I stitched and stitched, my hand cramping, my neck aching. All the while I muttered under my breath. Lily Lark, Peter Perkins, Sven, Araminta, Flirty Bertie . . .

  ‘DON’T BE NERVOUS, Diamond. We’ll do splendidly,’ I said, taking her hand.

  My own palm was damp. I’d had such confidence when I rapped on Mr Tanglefield’s wagon, bounced in and talked myself into the job of ringmaster. But that was just a small travelling circus, a ring of shabby wagons and a bedraggled big top. The Cavalcade was very different, so grand, so gold, so beautiful.

  The doors were open now. We went up the marble steps and entered the theatre, clinging to each other. There was more gold inside, and red flock wallpaper, and a gleaming chandelier like a giant glass star sparkling above us. Diamond looked up at it and had to shield her eyes.

  A man in dark green uniform with gold brocade was frowning at us. ‘What do you two girls want, eh? The show doesn’t start for another hour.’

  ‘Please, sir, we’ve come to see the manager,’ I said, my voice high-pitched with nerves.

  ‘What? Blooming cheek! Now run along,’ he said, giving us little dismissive waves with both hands.

  ‘We’re here about a position. We’re artistes,’ I said.

  He burst out laughing. ‘Yes, and I’m the Queen of Sheba. You’re just little kids. Now push off.’

  Diamond took a step backwards, but I held fast to her hand, making her stand her ground.

  ‘Yes, we are children,’ I said, my voice firmer now. ‘That is the whole point. We are child artistes. This is Diamond, the Acrobatic Child Wonder. And I am Miss Emerald Star, Compère Extraordinaire. We have an appointment with Mrs Ruby, so we’d be grateful if you’d show us to her office.’

  His look of scorn wavered when I showed that I knew the name of the manager. ‘Well, you should have said. And why come in the front entrance? The stage door’s round the back,’ he said. ‘Stan will show you up.’

  I thanked him grandly and pulled Diamond down the marble steps.

  ‘Are we going now?’ she whispered.

  ‘No, of course not. We’re seeing Mrs Ruby. We have to go through some special door,’ I said.

  We made our way down the side of the Cavalcade. It wasn’t quite so grand at the back. The stucco needed a new coat of white paint, and there were ugly brown water stains down the wall where a pipe had burst.

  ‘Maybe he was having us on,’ I said angrily. ‘This can’t be right. There’s no door back here.’

  I was looking for more marble steps and twin doors with etched glass and big gilt doorknobs. I almost walked past the actual stage door. It was a shabby plywood affair, badly scuffed where it had been kicked open. There was a tiny sign above the portal. STAGE DOOR.

  ‘My goodness,’ I said. ‘Oh well, in we go.’

  Diamond hung back. ‘I don’t want to. I don’t think I want to be a music-hall artiste any more.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Diamond. We haven’t come all this way for nothing. Take a deep breath.’

  Diamond gulped in air.

  ‘That’s the ticket.’

  I knocked on the door. I knocked again. There was still no answer, so I seized the handle and pushed hard. The door was so stiff I could see why people had given it a kicking. I had to put
my whole shoulder to it to make it budge. But it gave way at last, and Diamond and I tumbled in.

  Because the sign said STAGE DOOR I’d assumed we’d step right onto the stage itself, but we were in an ordinary dark corridor. There was a little cubbyhole opposite, with an old man dozing in his chair, a pipe still clenched in his teeth.

  I coughed and his eyes opened. He stared at us. ‘Who are you two?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Stan. We are child artistes, come to see Mrs Ruby,’ I said, trying to sound confident. ‘Could you tell us where to find her?’

  ‘She knows you’re coming, does she?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I lied blithely.

  ‘Then along the corridor, up the stairs, two flights, go left – no, wait a minute, is it right? Well, you’ll doubtless find her if you follow your nose,’ he said. He set about lighting his pipe, obviously feeling he’d given us enough information.

  So we set off. We found the stairs easily enough and counted the two flights, but then we were lost. We went the entire length of the second-floor corridor peering at all the doors. Some were open, showing little dressing rooms with big mirrors, and an interesting array of paints and powders all over the table tops. Some were closed, with names on the doors. I saw MISS LILY LARK and mimed fancy singing to Diamond, which made her smile nervously. I looked and looked, but I couldn’t find a door with MRS RUBY on it. We paraded the corridor twice, to no avail.

  I sighed, wondering if we should trail all the way back down to the unhelpful Sam. He was probably asleep, and wouldn’t appreciate being woken again. I knocked on Miss Lily Lark’s door to see if she could direct us, but there was no answer. I tried a door inscribed MISS EVA RUBICHEK. She sounded very foreign. I pictured her dark and exotic, maybe a contortionist with a lithe muscled body. She’d have a guttural voice, and mix up half her words.

  But the voice that called out was an unmistakable London voice, loud and lively. ‘Come in, then. Chop chop!’