Ballet Shoes

  Nana went happily to bed, and so did Sylvia, who slept well for the first time for weeks; for there was no doubt Pauline’s pound was needed, however hard she pretended it was not.

  CHAPTER XI

  Pauline Learns a Lesson

  PAULINE was a great success as ‘Alice’. All the papers said so, and published photographs of her. The children who came to see the play wrote her letters and sent her chocolates, and told her she was wonderful, and the grown-ups in the cast were nice to her, and she could not help seeing that they thought she was good. The result was she became very conceited. Petrova and Posy were the first to put up with it. Pauline thought because she was the leading lady in the theatre she was one in the house too, and of course they were not standing for that. It began with her telling them to fetch things for her, and to pick things up she had dropped. Posy, being good-natured, and not very noticing, did what she asked once or twice, then Petrova said:

  ‘Has something happened to your legs and arms?’

  ‘Course not,’ Pauline answered. ‘Why?’

  Petrova raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I would have thought a person whose arms and legs were all right would have been able to fetch their own pocket handkerchief, and pick up their own wool.’

  Pauline flushed.

  ‘Why shouldn’t Posy? I get used to people doing things for me in the theatre.’

  Posy looked at Petrova, then they both looked at Pauline.

  ‘It’s going to be difficult,’ Petrova said thoughtfully, ‘when we are all working, isn’t it, Posy?’

  Posy nodded.

  ‘All of us being like Queens at once.’

  Pauline got up.

  ‘I think you’re both being hateful.’ She slammed the door.

  As the run of the play went on, Pauline got worse. She was very nice on the stage, because everybody was nice to her, but she was very different at home, and in her dressing-room. She had a dressing-room to herself; but it was arranged that Winifred should sit in it, because although there was an approved County Council matron in the theatre for the other children, they were all pupils from a different stage school, and Winifred did not know them, so Nana acted as matron for her as well as Pauline. Winifred’s mother brought her to the theatre and fetched her home again, but Nana was responsible for her in the theatre.

  As an understudy she was allowed to leave the theatre as soon as Pauline had gone on for the last act; but she had a dull job, especially for somebody as clever as she was, who could have played the part beautifully herself. It was difficult for her not to be jealous, with Pauline having all the fun, flowers, chocolates, letters, and praise; but she managed to pretend she did not mind, and spent all her afternoons knitting a jersey, and talking to Nana. Nana understood just how she must feel, and was very nice to her; but Pauline, getting more conceited every day, stopped being sorry for her, and bragged instead about what people had said, and all the presents she got, and even expected Winifred to fetch and carry for her. Nana was shocked that anybody she had brought up could behave so atrociously.

  ‘Fetch what you want yourself, Pauline,’ she said. ‘Playing “Alice” hasn’t lost you the use of your limbs.’

  ‘Oh, well, if Winifred won’t help,’ Pauline grumbled, ‘but I should have thought she’d have been glad to have something to do.’

  ‘Winifred and me have plenty to do,’ Nana retorted. ‘She has her jersey she’s knitting, and I have enough to stitch with what you tear, so don’t fuss yourself finding work for us.’

  Pauline messed about with her sticks of grease-paint.

  ‘I shouldn’t have thought there was much harm in asking a person to get something out of my coat pocket,’ she said nastily. ‘When I let that person sit in my dressing-room.’

  ‘If everybody had their rights,’ Nana answered quietly, ‘it would be you sitting in Winifred’s dressing-room. Now get on with your make-up, and don’t let me hear any more of that sort of talk.’

  Sylvia was very worried at the effect the theatre was having on Pauline, but Doctor Jakes comforted her. She said that the more puffed up Pauline became, the greater would be the flatness after the matinées were over, and that then she would learn that most important lesson for an actress — that today’s success is easily nobody at all tomorrow.

  ‘Let her learn,’ she said, ‘she’ll soon find out.’

  After three weeks of being bumptious to everybody at home, and to Winifred, it became so natural to Pauline that she became bumptious on the stage. The rule of the theatre was that a cotton wrap had to be worn over all stage dresses until just before an entrance. Nana always saw that Pauline’s wrap was round her when she went on to the side of the stage, and she hung it up for her when she made her entrance. When Pauline came off after the act, or during an act, she was supposed to wrap it round her. To start with Pauline was very good at remembering it, but after a bit she thought it a bore and left it hanging where Nana had left it, and the call-boy had to bring it to her dressing-room. This went on for a day or two; then one afternoon Pauline was skipping off after the first act, when the stage manager caught hold of her.

  ‘What about your wrap, my dear?’

  ‘Oh, bother!’ said Pauline. ‘Tell the call-boy to bring it.’ And she ran to her room.

  The stage manager took the wrap and followed her; he knocked on her door. Nana opened it.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Gutheridge. Pauline must remember her wrap. The call-boy has other things to do than to run after her, and it is a rule of the management’s that she wears it.’

  Nana called Pauline.

  ‘Why did you leave your wrap on the stage?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Pauline said grandly. ‘Stupid things, anyway.’

  The stage manager looked at her in surprise, as up till then he had thought her a nice child.

  ‘Stupid or not, you’re to wear it.’

  He went back to the stage.

  For two or three days Pauline wore her wrap; then one afternoon she deliberately left it on the stage after the last act. A few minutes later the call-boy knocked on her door.

  ‘Mr Barnes’s compliments, Miss Fossil, and will you go back for your wrap.’

  ‘Tell him “No”,’ Pauline shouted. ‘I’m busy.‘

  ‘Pauline,’ Nana said, ‘go at once when the stage manager sends for you.’

  Winifred was still in the theatre, as Sylvia had invited her to high tea with the children after the matinée.

  ‘Let me go.’ She jumped up.

  ‘Sit down, Winifred.’ Nana’s voice was quiet. ‘Either Pauline fetches it herself, or it hangs where it is.’

  ‘Let it hang, then.’ Pauline began to take off her make-up.

  After a few minutes there was another knock on the door. This time it was Mr Barnes.

  ‘Did Pauline get my message?’ he asked Nana.

  Pauline pushed Nana to one side and came out into the passage.

  ‘I did, and I said I wouldn’t fetch it, so please stop bothering.’

  Mr French, who was the managing director of the Princess Theatres, Ltd, came out of the ‘Mad Hatter’s’ dressing-room, which was next door. He stopped in surprise.

  ‘What’sall the trouble?’

  Mr Barnes looked worried, as he hated telling tales. But Nana thought a scolding would be the best thing in the world for Pauline. She told him the whole story. Mr French looked down at Pauline.

  ‘Go and fetch your wrap at once. I don’t make rules in my theatre for little girls to break.’

  Pauline was excited and angry, and she completely lost her temper. She behaved as she had never behaved before. She stamped her foot.

  ‘Get it yourselves if you want it fetched.’

  There was a long pause, and in the silence Pauline began to feel frightened. Mr French was a terribly important man, and nobody was ever rude to him. His face expressed nothing, but she could feel he was angry. At last he looked at Mr Barnes.

  ‘Is the under-study in
the theatre?’

  Nana called Winifred, who came out looking very nervous, for she had heard all that had gone on.

  ‘You will play tomorrow,’ Mr French said to her, ‘Pauline will be in the theatre as your under-study.’

  He went down the passage and never gave Pauline another look.

  Pauline finished taking off her make-up, and got dressed, and went home in perfect silence; her mouth was pressed together. Winifred thought it was because she was angry, but Nana knew it was not. She knew that Pauline was terrified to speak in case she should break down and cry. She certainly was not going to let the theatre see how much she cared, and of course she would not cry in the tube. As soon as she got into the house she raced up the stairs. She could not go into the bedroom, because the others might come in, so she went into the bathroom and locked the door, and lay down on the floor, just as she was, in a coat, gloves, and béret, and cried dreadfully. At first she cried because she thought she was being badly treated, and kept muttering, ‘It’s a shame; I didn’t do anything.’ ‘Anyhow, Winifred’s sure to be awful; they’ll be sorry.’ But by degrees, as she got more and more tired from crying, other thoughts drifted through her mind. Had she been rude? Had she been showing off? Inside she knew that she had, and she was ashamed, and though she was quite alone she turned red.

  Although Nana closed the nursery door, the other children could not help hearing Pauline’s sobs from the bathroom. Nana had told Petrova and Posy something of what had happened, and although they knew that Pauline had got so proud that she would cheek anybody, they were terribly on her side now that she was down, and although they knew Winifred could not help being told to play ‘Alice’, they blamed her in a sort of way. Naturally, with all this, tea Was not a very cheerful affair, and Winifred wished more than ever that she was not there, and still more that she could go as soon as she had finished eating; but she could not, as she had to wait for her mother to fetch her home. Directly tea was over, Nana sent them all down to Sylvia.

  ‘Remember, now,’ she said, ‘Miss Brown hasn’t heard what’s happened, so none of you show her anything is wrong. You let Pauline tell her herself.’

  This made things much better. They played ‘Rummy’ with Sylvia, and so that she should not suspect anything, were more cheerful than even they would have been ordinarily.

  As soon as the other three had gone downstairs, Nana knocked on the bathroom door, and told Pauline to let her in. Pauline lay where she was for a few minutes, too tired and too miserable and too ashamed to come out; then she turned the key. Nana put her arm round her.

  ‘Come along,’ she said, ‘you’ll feel better after a bath and something to eat. When you are in your dressing-gown you can go down and tell Miss Brown all about it.’

  She treated Pauline just as if she were six instead of twelve, helping her off with her clothes, and even washing bits of her, then she put her in the armchair by the fire and gave her a large bowl of bread and milk.

  ‘You eat all that, dear, and stop fretting. Pride has to come before a fall, and that’s the law of nature; you’ve got your fall, and now you’ve got to be brave and get up again. What’s one matinée, anyhow, and if you think right, you’ll be glad in a way that poor Winifred gets a chance one after noon. She’s been very good, knitting quietly.’ Nana gave her a kiss. ‘I’m fetching the other two up, so when that bread and milk’s gone you can have a chance to tell Miss Brown what’s happened.’

  Naturally Sylvia had supposed something was wrong when Pauline had not come down with the others, and when she saw her swollen face, she knew it. Pauline sat on the fire-stool, and told exactly what had happened. It was a very truthful account. Sylvia heard her without a word, then, when she had finished, she thanked her for telling her, and said she was sorry, of course, but very glad for Winifred. This question of Winifred coming first from Nana, and then from Sylvia, made Pauline feel better; if she had to be punished, it was nice that it gave Winifred a chance.

  At the matinée the next day she took a bit of sewing to do, and sat quietly in a corner working. She wished Winifred luck before she went on, and when she heard the ‘Mad Hatter’ congratulating her in the passage outside, she managed to smile, and tell her she was glad, though inside she was not really, as of course she hoped nobody was as good as ‘Alice’ as herself. Just as the last act started, Mr Barnes came to the door and called her. He was nice; he told her Mr French wanted to see her, and that though Winifred was very good, they’d all missed her, and would be glad to see her back tomorrow.

  Mr French had a large office, where Pauline had never been before. He was sitting writing at a desk. He told Pauline to sit. Instead she came over to the desk and said politely that she was sorry she had been rude and disobedient yesterday, and that she would not be again. He said that was quite all right; she had done very nicely as ‘Alice’, and that doing nicely in a part always went to an actress’s head to begin with. It was a good thing to get that sort of thing over at twelve, instead of waiting till she was grown-up. He then said that Winifred had done very nicely as ‘Alice’ too, and that she might take note of it, because it was an object lesson she might remember always. That nobody was irreplaceable. Pauline looked puzzled, as she did not know the word, so he explained that it meant that you could always get somebody else to act any part — that the play was the thing. ‘Alice’ was just as much ‘Alice’, whether Winifred was acting her or Pauline; Lewis Carroll’s words were what mattered. Then he told her to run along; but just as she got to the door, he said that he was having a party of children guests round to see the play tomorrow, and she was not to hurry away, as he should bring them to call afterwards.

  That night Pauline told Petrova and Posy about Mr French. Petrova said she thought it was true, and that though she did not think Winifred would be half as good as Pauline was as ‘Alice’, people who had not seen the play before probably thought her perfect. Posy said that she did not think it was a bit true.

  ‘When I dance,’ she said, ‘nobody else will do instead of me; they’ll come to see me, and if I’m not there, they’ll just go home.’

  Pauline and Petrova snubbed her, of course, for though it was only a very Posyish way of talking, she could not be allowed to say things like that.

  Pauline went to sleep feeling terribly glad the day was over and she would be ‘Alice’ again tomorrow, and, down inside, rather surprised to find how right Mr French was. It really would not matter terribly if she was ill, and Winifred played for the rest of the run. She pushed the thought back, but she knew it was true.

  Petrova went to sleep puzzling over what Posy had just said. She did not believe it was conceitedness when Posy said things like that, but it certainly was when Pauline said them. Why?

  Posy went to sleep murmuring, ‘Two chassés, pas de chat, pirouette, two chassés…’

  CHAPTER XII

  August

  EXCEPT for two broadcast performances of ‘Alice in Wonderland’, Pauline made no more money until June, but the broadcasting bought back the rest of Petrova’s necklace, and besides what went to the post office, and to the Academy, it gave Sylvia two pounds for the housekeeping, and got enough stuff in a sale to make them all Spring coats in light tweed with tweed hats to match.

  In June she was engaged as a child in the first act of a grownup play. It was dull work, as she was the youngest of three children, none of whom had much to say, and since she was only in one act, she never saw the whole play, and never knew what it was about. The leading lady was a famous film-star, and she seemed to like Pauline, for on the first night she gave her a magnificent doll and a signed photograph. The children hardly ever went to a film, as they had no money to spend, and Sylvia thought very few of them suitable, so Pauline was not interested in the fact that she was a film star, and none of them played with dolls; but this one was so handsome that they put her on the mantelpiece as an ornament, and called her the Queen of Sheba. She stayed on the mantelpiece about three weeks, and then Nana said,
Queen or no Queen she collected dust, and sent her to the Great Ormond Street Hospital. The card that came with the doll, Pauline gave to Clara, who said she was as pleased as if it were a bag of gold, for Clara went a lot to the pictures, and the star in Pauline’s play was her favourite actress.

  Pauline only earned two pounds ten shillings a week in this play, of which Sylvia put one pound in the post office, and five shillings went to the Academy; and in spite of all Pauline’s persuasions, she only took fifteen shillings for the house, so that still left ten shillings for clothes. With it, after Pauline’s necklace was redeemed, Nana managed to get them all new outfits for the Academy, as well as making them two cotton frocks each with knickers to match, and giving Pauline sixpence a week pocket money and the other two threepence. Pauline was glad the money was useful, but she was not sorry when the play came off, as, after being ‘Alice’, it was poor fun. During the run of the play she only attended one dancing class a day, and none at all on the two matinée days; for, as the play was running in term time, she was not allowed by the London County Council to miss any lessons.

  Petrova was now in her last year as a non-working pupil; she would be twelve in the August of next year, and so old enough for a licence in the Autumn. She now, besides five hours’ lessons a day and two walks, had to practise dancing exercises for two half-hours at home with Theo, and had five hours of dancing lessons during the ordinary week, two hours’ dancing class on Saturday mornings, and had to come back after tea on Saturday afternoons for an hour’s elocution and another hour’s dancing. She had been allowed to drop singing classes, as it was obvious she never would be any use at it. The more dancing she learnt the more it bored her. With so much training, naturally she became proficient — in fact, she became technically one of the most proficient pupils in her class. She did the exercises neatly, and remembered the routine of a set dance; her points got strong, and she got well up on them; her knees were splendidly straight — in fact, there was nothing wrong with her work, except that it bored her, and she looked as if it did.