Little Stars

  ‘Of course I mean it,’ said Bertie. ‘You never take me seriously, Hetty.’

  ‘Because you’re always joking around and teasing so,’ I said. ‘But you’re a truly good sort, Bertie. It’s very kind of you to carry Diamond all the way home. You must be exhausted.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m bright and bouncy and the night is still young, Hetty Feather. Tell you what. You tuck little Twinkle up in her bed and then how about you and me stepping out? How about champagne and oysters? What do you say?’

  I hesitated. Then I smiled.

  ‘I say Yes, please!’

  MISS GIBSON LOOKED a little wistful when I asked her if she’d mind keeping an eye on Diamond while I went out with Bertie.

  ‘Well, of course, dear. Though it is a little late. Where exactly are you taking her, Bertie?’

  ‘Not quite sure yet, Miss Gibson. We’re just going to have a bite to eat.’

  ‘But I can make you a special little supper here. What do you fancy? I’ve got some very nice cheese and my own home-made pickle – or if you’d prefer something hot, then I could make you bacon and eggs,’ she said, all eagerness, already reaching for her apron.

  ‘Oh, you’re such a lovely lady, Miss Gibson dear, but Hetty and I feel in need of a breath of air tonight. I’m sure you understand,’ said Bertie, giving her a kiss on her plump cheek.

  ‘Oh, I do, I do,’ she said, shaking her head a little.

  I rushed upstairs to change. I’d never get served champagne in my Cavalcade outfit. I had resolved never to drink alcohol again, but I wanted to try champagne! Diamond was already fast asleep, curled up in bed, with Adeline on one side of her and Maybelle on the other.

  I changed into my grey dress, wishing it wasn’t so plain. I seemed to be always making outfits for other people, but still had nothing decent to wear myself. I put on the striped blazer I’d worn at the picnic to make my outfit more interesting, and tied up my hair.

  When I ran down the stairs, Miss Gibson didn’t say a word about my borrowing the blazer again. ‘Have a lovely time, dears. Don’t worry about Diamond. Or me!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said to Bertie as we walked down the road. ‘I feel a bit mean leaving her with Diamond. I do feel sorry for her sometimes.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re deciding against the life of a lonely spinster after all?’ he replied.

  ‘I don’t think I want Miss Gibson’s life – but one’s life doesn’t have to be lonely if you stay single,’ I said, tossing my head. ‘I’d rather like Lily Lark’s life. Top of the bill, much admired, with gentleman admirers hanging around the stage door – though she doesn’t seem to give a fig for any of them. She doesn’t stay in cheap digs. The girls told me she’s taken a mansion flat near the park for the whole season.’

  ‘She leads a good enough life, I grant you, but I feel a bit sorry for the old bird. She’s had her time in all the big London gaffs. She’s on the slippery slope now. The Cavalcade’s good, but it’s only the provinces. Give old Lil another five years and she’ll be history,’ said Bertie.

  ‘Well, I can’t see Ivy Green taking her place at the Cavalcade,’ I snapped.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Bertie wisely. ‘It’ll be you and Diamond, of course, Hetty. You’re a big draw already.’

  ‘And you can be second on the bill, Bertie – how about that?’

  ‘No thanks. I think I’ll be top of the bill at the Alhambra or the Criterion,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘No one can ever get the better of you,’ I said.

  ‘I think we’re evenly matched. That’s why I’m sweet on you, Hetty. You’re not like all the other girls.’

  ‘Not at all like other girls. Not pretty, not shapely, not tall, not a lady,’ I said.

  ‘Same as I’m not handsome, not a fine figure, and definitely not a gentleman,’ said Bertie. ‘But we’re both sharp and cunning because we’ve had to make our own way in life. We know how to fend for ourselves. We make out we’re tough as old boots, but inside we’re soft as butter and just want a little bit of loving.’

  ‘I think you’ve probably had more than enough loving in your life,’ I said tartly.

  ‘And I don’t think you’ve had enough, Hetty,’ said Bertie, taking my hand.

  ‘So where are we going, Mr Flirty Bertie? I hope you’ve got a suitable establishment in mind.’ I adopted Miss Gibson’s girly murmur. ‘Respectable, I hope!’

  ‘Ultra-respectable – in its way,’ said Bertie. ‘I’m taking you to Maudie’s.’

  ‘Ah, Maudie’s,’ I said in a nonchalant manner.

  ‘You haven’t a clue what Maudie’s is, have you?’ said Bertie, chuckling. ‘Don’t worry – it’s a drinking club, but I’ve never seen anybody behave badly there. It’s all quite swish, and you can get a bite to eat.’

  ‘So is this one of your regular haunts, then?’

  ‘Every night I down the old bottle of champers and generally make merry,’ said Bertie. ‘Nah! I’ve only been there once before, when Peter Perkins had a windfall on the gee-gees and took a whole bunch of us out to celebrate. Even the Rubys came. And I liked it so much, I thought if ever I got a specially lovely lady friend – one like that little Hetty Feather I courted way back when I was a lowly butcher’s boy – then I’d take her there to impress her.’

  ‘You don’t have to take me anywhere swish to impress me, Bertie,’ I said. ‘We’re both quite good at picturing, I seem to remember.’

  ‘Yes, you were a little sport that day when I was out of cash and couldn’t treat you to anything. One of our best times together, wasn’t it? I’ve never known a girl so good at pretending.’

  ‘Well, you got the hang of it too,’ I said.

  ‘I like to think I’m the only boy you’ve pictured with,’ said Bertie.

  I hesitated for a second, remembering all those long-ago days in the squirrel tree. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘No I’m not,’ said Bertie. ‘So you and Jem used to picture too?’

  ‘You will go on about Jem. I might have had all sorts of sweethearts, you’re not to know,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but I do know you, Hetty, through and through. So it’s no use lying to me, especially about Jem.’

  ‘I didn’t lie,’ I lied. ‘Well, only a bit. When we were little children, Jem and I used to play simple games. We had a special tree in the woods and we used to climb up and pretend we were squirrels.’

  ‘How sweetly pretty,’ said Bertie sarcastically.

  ‘Don’t you dare parrot Ivy Green to me!’

  We glared at each other – but then Bertie pulled me close. ‘Don’t let’s spoil our special evening, Hetty,’ he said.

  ‘All right. I’ll hang onto my temper. And actually there’s no need for you to get all het up about Jem any more.’

  ‘I don’t get het up!’

  ‘Just listen to you! Jem’s betrothed. He’s actually getting married this very Saturday,’ I said.

  ‘He’s never!’

  ‘I told you he had a sweetheart.’

  ‘You were always his sweetheart.’

  ‘When I was a tiny girl, before I went to the hospital. He made a fuss of me, the way you make a fuss of Diamond,’ I said.

  ‘And – and you don’t mind that he’s getting married now?’

  ‘Of course not!’ I said, my third lie in three minutes. It wasn’t totally a lie. Part of me, maybe nearly all of me, was very happy for Jem and Janet. It was what I’d wanted, what I’d hoped for. But there was still a squirmy little piece of jealousy inside me, as if the five-year-old Hetty were screaming, He’s my Jem and no one else can have him but me!

  I thought of little Eliza in the Foundling Hospital and wondered if she’d been told. She would mind dreadfully. She’d set her heart on marrying Jem herself. It seemed ironic that one sweet, gentle boy had already broken the hearts of two little girls.

  ‘You’ve got that dreamy look on your face, Hetty,’ Bertie said accusingly.

  ‘Maybe I’m dreaming of you.’

/>   ‘I wish you were. I wish we’d just met now. I’ve given myself a polish, even smartened up my accent. I’m a plain lad, and I’m shorter than average, but somehow I know how to please the ladies. I reckon I’d have a fair chance with you, Hetty. But whenever you look at me now, you can’t help remembering that awful butcher’s boy with the pencil behind his ear and the stained apron and the stink of meat. No wonder your nose wrinkles whenever I come near you.’

  ‘No it doesn’t! Whenever I look at you I think that you’re my dear friend. I don’t care if you’re delivering meat or tap-dancing on stage, you’re still the same Bertie,’ I said, and I kissed him full on the lips even though we were standing right under a gaslight.

  ‘My Hetty,’ Bertie whispered, kissing me back.

  There was a piercing whistle from a passing lad.

  Bertie made a rude gesture at him and laughed. ‘Come on, we’d better stop this canoodling. If Miss Gibson could see us, she’d be very shocked. Maudie’s is just down the street.’

  It didn’t look like anything from outside, a tall narrow building, rather shabby, with an uninviting black-painted door. There was no sign up, nothing to show it was a club.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve got the right place, Bertie?’ I asked.

  ‘Certain,’ he said.

  He rapped smartly on the door and someone opened it a chink. We caught a glimpse of a tall broad man with a boxer’s broken nose. He didn’t look welcoming.

  ‘Yes?’ he grunted.

  ‘We’re two customers for Maudie’s,’ said Bertie.

  ‘Have you got membership?’

  ‘Not as yet, but I’ll gladly join.’

  ‘But will we gladly invite you in? No, we will not,’ said the doorman. ‘Go on, off you hop, small fry.’

  This was so insulting! I couldn’t bear to see Bertie humiliated. He looked ready to start a fight he couldn’t possibly win.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Doorman, I don’t think you realize who we are,’ I said imperiously. ‘We’re personal friends of Mrs Ruby from the Cavalcade. She recommended your establishment herself. But if this is your attitude, then I’m not at all sure we want to come in.’

  ‘Mrs Ruby?’ he said, changing his tone. Then he opened the door properly, so that light shone on our faces. ‘Oh, you’re artistes! You’re that child with the penny-farthing. You’re very comical.’

  ‘But as you can see, I’m not really a child,’ I said, standing as tall as possible.

  ‘Indeed not. Come in, come in,’ said the doorman, all affability now.

  Bertie sniffed at him as he stalked past, his hand round my waist protectively. ‘My goodness, Hetty, you’re famous already,’ he said.

  ‘We both are. He said, “You’re artistes.”’

  ‘But he remembered your act, not mine,’ said Bertie.

  ‘Oh pish-pash, what does it matter?’ I said, though I knew it did.

  Bertie led me down a dark corridor into a large room of little tables, with pink gaslights at every one, so the whole room had a rosy glow. I looked around at the glittering mirrors, the marble bar, the waiters in black with long crisp white aprons, the artistic folk lounging at the gilt tables, drinking and eating and smoking.

  ‘Oh my goodness, I love it here!’ I said.

  One of the waiters showed us to a little table in the corner. Bertie objected, wanting the table in the very centre of the room, though it had a reserved sign on it.

  ‘No, no, I’d much prefer this table, then we can peer at everyone,’ I said quickly, wanting to avoid another argument.

  We did have a tiny squabble over the champagne. Bertie wanted to order a bottle, but I wanted just one glass. I remembered drinking too much at my foster father’s funeral and it hadn’t ended well. But after I’d got my way Bertie relaxed a little. Perhaps he’d seen just how much a whole bottle of champagne cost. He did insist on ordering oysters. I didn’t like gulping them down raw at all. They were revoltingly slimy – but I pretended to enjoy them to please Bertie.

  ‘Shall we have something else now?’ Bertie suggested. ‘I think my tum needs something a little more substantial.’

  We had devils-on-horseback – lovely little prunes stuffed with mango chutney and wrapped in bacon. Then we had a wonderful apricot pudding so delicious I wanted to lick round my bowl. It was topped with a crystallized apricot.

  When Bertie saw me eating mine with such relish, he gave me his too. ‘This is better than picturing, ain’t it, girl?’ he said.

  ‘I’ll say,’ I agreed.

  I sipped at my champagne, looking around at all the ladies to see what kind of gowns they were wearing. Some were dressed in very skimpy garments, showing a great deal of chest, and putting far too much faith in a flimsy shred of lace. Less bold ladies were making do with slightly tired evening gowns, a little stained under the arms and needing a good going over with a steaming iron. There were a few dashing women wearing what I now knew was the latest fashion. I assessed their sleeves, their necklines, the cut of their skirts, to see if I could pick up any tips for Miss Gibson.

  There was one woman who particularly drew my attention. She had red hair just like mine, and she seemed to glory in it, for it was piled up on her head and adorned with a green necklace like a little coronet. She was wearing a loose purple silk dress with another green bead necklace and there was a faint jangle from her silver bracelets every time she moved her arms. She wore as much make-up as the showgirls, but somehow she still looked like a lady. She was chatting politely to a small, stout, ugly man in immaculate evening dress, his shirt brilliant white, his suit a fancy cut of cloth and his gold and pink brocade waistcoat very splendid.

  Bertie was looking at them too. ‘See that couple – that’s you and me in twenty years’ time!’ he said.

  ‘I’ll never look so amazing,’ I said. ‘And you’ll never look so ugly, Bertie!’

  ‘Don’t you think I’m ugly then?’

  ‘I think you’ve got a very pleasant face,’ I said.

  ‘Only pleasant!’

  ‘Look, I’m not going to lavish compliments on you to make you even more big-headed. You’d better ask Diamond. She thinks you’re the most handsome man on earth,’ I said.

  ‘Dear little Twinkle.’

  ‘You’re very good with her, Bertie. She absolutely adores you.’

  ‘Well, she’s a sweet kid. Sometimes it seems like we’re a little family now, you, me and Diamond.’

  ‘And Miss Gibson as Grandma?’

  ‘Perhaps not!’ said Bertie.

  ‘It’s sad we’ve never known our real grandmothers. But perhaps it’s just as well. I met my grandfather when I went up north to stay with my father, and he tried to attack me.’

  ‘What about your father? Surely he took a shine to you?’

  ‘Yes, I think he did. I liked him ever so. But I didn’t care for his new wife at all. I have a stepsister and -brother, but to be truthful I didn’t really care for them either. It’s strange – as you’re growing up in a terrible institution, you long to find your blood relatives, and yet it’s often a disappointment when you meet them. Apart from my dear mama, of course. Oh, Bertie, I miss her so. If only she were here now. If I tell you something, will you swear not to tease me?’

  ‘I swear, Hetty,’ said Bertie, holding my hand under the table.

  ‘I sometimes hear her talking to me.’

  ‘What, like Sarah’s mother at those séance sessions?’ asked Bertie.

  ‘No, no – it was plain they were charlatans, though I suppose they gave poor Sarah a lot of joy even so. No, Mama speaks in my heart. Not always, just when I need her advice most. You’re not laughing, are you, Bertie?’

  ‘I’d never laugh at anything that truly matters to you, Hetty. So, have you talked to your mama about me? I hope she thinks I’m a nice cheery chap, just the ticket for her special girl.’

  ‘You are laughing! And I haven’t discussed you with Mama.’

  ‘That’s a disappointment! I’d hoped I migh
t be on your mind more than somewhat.’

  ‘Well, you are.’

  Bertie still had hold of my hand. He put his face very close to mine. ‘And what do you really think of me, Hetty? You know I’m truly keen on you. You’re my best girl. I might have a bit of a reputation, and I don’t deny I’ve had a few sweethearts before you, but I’ll be true to you and never, ever stray,’ he whispered earnestly.

  ‘Oh, Bertie.’ I held his hand tight, staring at his dear pink face, seeing he really was serious. My heart thumped hard underneath the garish stripes of my blazer.

  ‘Do you love me, just a little bit?’ he asked.

  ‘I – I think I do.’

  ‘Only think?’

  I struggled to find the right response. Did I truly love Bertie? I certainly loved his company most of the time. I liked joshing with him, I liked holding his hand, I liked kissing him. Was that love? I knew I loved Mama. I knew I loved Diamond. I knew I loved Madame Adeline. I knew I loved Jem – like a brother?

  ‘My, my, look who we have here! Talk about love’s young dream!’ It was Mrs Ruby herself, all got up in the special dress I’d stitched for her. Her eyes were sparkling, and all the red glass beads at her neckline sparkled in the gaslight too.

  Bertie looked furious at being interrupted at such an inopportune moment, but he stood up politely and nodded to her. He sat down again when he saw Samson behind her.

  ‘It’s the Little Star herself, all dressed up in a tiny sporting blazer!’ said Samson, laughing at me. ‘Don’t she look a little cracker!’ He patted my shoulder clumsily.

  ‘Crackers can be fiery,’ I said, jerking out of his reach.

  ‘May I order you a drink, Mrs Ruby?’ said Bertie, glaring at Samson.

  ‘Thank you, dearie, but we’re joining some friends.’ Mrs Ruby was frowning at Samson too. ‘Come along, Strongman,’ she said sharply.

  Samson pulled a silly face, pretending to be frightened of her. He had clearly already been drinking at the Cavalcade bar. Mrs Ruby turned on her heel and he shambled after her. They went to join the couple we’d been staring at, the red-haired stunner and the ugly stout man.