Little Stars

  ‘I should breakfast in your nightgowns, dear. You don’t want to have cold egg and toast. Run up and fetch your sister.’

  Diamond was still fast asleep. I shook her gently. She woke, rubbed her eyes, and then curled up again, pulling the quilt over her head.

  ‘Diamond, come on! Breakfast’s ready. We’re keeping Miss Gibson waiting,’ I said, pulling her arm.

  ‘Miss Gibson?’ said Diamond sleepily. ‘Is she the lady in the blue dress with all the jewellery?’

  ‘No, no, that was Mrs Ruby. Miss Gibson is our landlady now. She’s the lady who makes all the gowns, remember?’

  ‘It’s hard remembering,’ Diamond complained, reluctantly sitting up and swinging her legs out of bed. ‘We met so many people yesterday. There were too many names. I don’t want to meet anyone else today. I don’t want to do anything either. I just want to stay in bed!’

  ‘Nonsense! We have work to do,’ I said briskly. ‘Come on! You can wear my shawl if you’re chilly. I’m warm as toast. Ah, I’ve made toast. Come and eat it, dripping with butter.’

  Madame Adeline used to make us buttered toast when she’d run out of cake. Diamond loved it – and was already running across the room, wide awake now.

  She behaved well, chattering politely to Miss Gibson, looking angelic in her little nightgown with her clouds of fair hair hanging down her back. When we’d all eaten, I insisted on clearing away and doing the dishes, and I swept the floor for good measure. I washed and dressed and supervised Diamond, and then sat down with her in the back sewing room, while Miss Gibson perched her large behind on a padded stool in the shop, serving the occasional customer.

  I started tacking the waistband of Mrs Ruby’s new purple gown, following Miss Gibson’s neat line of pins.

  ‘Can’t I sew too?’ asked Diamond. ‘I can do big stitches like that.’

  ‘No, these stitches have to be perfect. I need you to learn this instead.’ I handed her the pages torn from my memoir book. ‘This is our new act, Diamond. We’re still going to be music-hall stars, I promise you.’

  Diamond puzzled over the paper. She couldn’t get to grips with my handwriting, so I copied it out in large print for her. As she still wasn’t making much progress, I stopped stitching again and read the lines out to her over and over again. She did learn the words eventually, but she couldn’t seem to say them with the right expression.

  ‘I know you’re trying very hard, Diamond, but you’re not saying it quite right,’ I said as tactfully as I could.

  ‘What do you mean? I said all the words, I know I did!’

  ‘Yes, but in such a monotone!’

  ‘What’s a monotone?’

  ‘Speak-ing-like-this-as-if-you’re-not-real.’

  ‘But I’m not supposed to be real! You said I had to be a doll, like that Little Pip boy with the funny mouth!’ said Diamond indignantly.

  ‘Yes, but you have to have some expression, otherwise it sounds so dull,’ I said.

  ‘I am . . . dull?’ said Diamond, her lip quivering.

  ‘No! You just sound it,’ I said, exasperated.

  Diamond started to cry.

  ‘Oh don’t! Please don’t. You make me feel so mean. Look, I think it’s simply because we’re not acting it out properly. Come here!’ I eased Mrs Ruby’s silky costume onto the table and patted my lap.

  Diamond climbed up onto it, still sniffling.

  ‘There now. You’re my little dolly Diamond, my very pretty beautiful dolly, just like the one we saw in the toyshop. Remember, if we get hired by Mrs Ruby, I’m going to save up all my wages, and when I have enough, I’ll buy you that special dolly,’ I said, hoping that bribery might work.

  ‘Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!’ said Diamond, childishly clapping her hands.

  All the time I’d known Diamond at the circus she’d been like a sad little woman trapped in a child’s body. She rarely relaxed or played games or had fun. She looked strained and wary, forever glancing around in case Beppo was watching her. But now we’d run away she seemed to have reverted to early childhood, seemingly younger and more dependent than the usual eight-year-old.

  I felt a pang, realizing how distorted her entire childhood had been. I wondered if I should be pushing her so hard now. But her fairy looks and sweet little ways would be our act’s biggest asset. My own looks counted for nothing – I was just a voice, so I had to use it as artfully as I could.

  ‘Hello, everyone,’ I said, in a childish lisp. ‘I am Emerald and it’s my birthday today. Goodness, see how many of you have come to my party! I hope cook has made lots and lots of jellies and jam tarts. Perhaps you’ve brought me some presents? Do you see the wonderful dolly Mama and Papa have got me? Isn’t she beautiful?’

  I tapped Diamond on the back as her signal to speak.

  ‘Yes-I-am-ve-ry-beau-ti-ful,’ chanted Diamond.

  ‘No, don’t do it as if you’re reading – do it as if you’re speaking. Just like the ventriloquist doll last night. And much louder. Really, really loud. They’ve got to hear you right at the back of the theatre. Positively shout it out!’

  Diamond’s shout was more of a squeak, and she complained it hurt her throat when I made her try harder. And she still couldn’t put any expression into her lines.

  ‘Act it, Diamond!’ I said.

  But Diamond couldn’t act. When I showed her how to move jerkily and turn her head from side to side like a little dummy, she copied me accurately enough, but she still couldn’t get the right inflection to her words. I gave up coaching her in the end because we were both getting so frustrated. I decided it would have to be enough for Diamond to know the words and manage the moves. Perhaps she was right – dolls might well speak in a monotone if they came to life.

  We managed to get all the way through our little piece, though it was very slow and laborious.

  ‘Well done,’ I said, falsely bright. ‘Now, let’s do it again.’

  ‘Again?’ said Diamond, wrinkling her forehead. ‘I’m a bit tired of doing it, Hetty. It’s making my head ache.’

  It was making my head ache too, but I made us go through it several further times as I stitched. Then we had a mid-morning break while I made us all a cup of tea. Miss Gibson was in a good mood because some grand Lady Someone had come into the shop and ordered a new ball gown while Diamond and I had been gabbling away in the back.

  ‘A real lady! Did she look very grand? Did she swish about the shop and look haughty?’

  ‘No, she was very kind and polite,’ said Miss Gibson, ‘but a little exacting. She wants it just so, tight about the waist, with a firm bodice, but not too restricting because she likes to dance. And she wants it by the end of the week, which is well-nigh impossible.’

  ‘It’s not impossible if you style it, and then I tack and sew the easier bits,’ I said. ‘Diamond can pass the pins and brew tea and make herself useful.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Miss Gibson. ‘I’m starting to be very glad my last girl flounced off!’

  I concentrated hard on stitching Mrs Ruby’s gown for the rest of the morning, wanting to show Miss Gibson just how quick and neat I could be, though I still forced Diamond to chant through our routine with me.

  ‘We’ll act it out properly when we take a quick break for lunch,’ I said.

  Diamond sighed heavily. ‘Are you sure we still have to be music-hall stars, Hetty? Couldn’t we just be sewing girls?’

  I knew this was actually a sensible suggestion. Quite by chance we now had board and lodging and I had a respectable occupation. I liked sewing too, and took pride in my work – but it still wasn’t quite enough. I needed to make something of myself, to try to be truly special. I remembered vowing to myself that one day my name would be famous, recognized all over London. It meant even more to me now. Bertie had made his childish dreams come true, so why couldn’t I?

  Then the shop door rang again and I heard Miss Gibson talking to someone.

  ‘Oh dear, another customer? I hoped it was lunch time no
w,’ said Diamond.

  It wasn’t a customer. It was Bertie.

  ‘LOOK WHO’S HERE, girls. A friend of yours, I do believe,’ Miss Gibson said, putting her head round the door.

  ‘A friend?’ said Diamond warily.

  ‘A certain Mr Albert Briggs?’

  ‘Bertie!’ Diamond shrieked and went rushing out to greet him as if she’d known him for ever.

  I was more circumspect. I took my time carefully folding Mrs Ruby’s dress and checking for loose pins. Then I strolled slowly into the front shop, attempting nonchalance, though I couldn’t stop my wretched face flushing.

  ‘Hello, Hetty. My, you’re rosy-cheeked this morning,’ said Bertie.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I said, sounding more surly than I intended.

  Bertie simply laughed. ‘I’ve come to take my three favourite ladies out to lunch,’ he said. He bowed to each of us in turn. ‘Might I have the pleasure of escorting you to the nearest chop house?’

  Miss Gibson giggled. ‘Get away with you, Bertie! You don’t want to take an old maid like me out to luncheon. The very idea! Besides, I can’t leave the shop.’

  ‘Indeed I do, Miss Gibson. It won’t do any harm to hang your closed sign on the door for a couple of hours. We have to go out to celebrate! I’ve been pining away this past year, wondering what happened to my dearest sweetheart, Hetty. She ran away without even saying goodbye – but now, quite by chance, we’re reunited. Did you regret your hasty departure, Hetty, my own love, and come running after me?’

  ‘Stop your saucy nonsense! And we were never sweethearts. I’m the only girl who didn’t break her heart over you,’ I snapped.

  ‘Oh, I dare say you’ll fall for my fatal charms soon enough,’ said Bertie.

  ‘Don’t bank on it. I’m not falling for you or anyone else,’ I said tersely. ‘I don’t ever intend to fall in love. I shall follow Miss Gibson’s sensible example and stay single.’

  Miss Gibson laughed uneasily. She looked wistful as she shut up her shop. The four of us walked along the pavement together.

  ‘What about Jem?’ Diamond hissed. She was trying to whisper, but she might as well have yelled under an echoing bridge.

  ‘Oh, is the sainted Jem still on the scene?’ asked Bertie, a sudden edge to his voice.

  ‘Hetty ran away from him too,’ said Diamond. ‘But she sometimes looks sad when she mentions him.’

  ‘Oh, she does, does she? And does she ever mention me, might I ask?’

  ‘Yes!’ I interrupted. ‘I say, Watch out for Flirty Bertie, Diamond. No girl is safe while he’s around.’

  ‘You’re safe as houses with me, Diamond,’ said Bertie. ‘Hey, come and have a piggyback down the road. Can you jump that high?’

  ‘Huh! Go, Diamond, show him!’ I said.

  Diamond tucked up her skirts and took a running jump. She landed lightly on Bertie’s shoulders. He shouted out in shock and staggered, so that Diamond had to hang onto his hair, which made him shout even louder.

  ‘Keep still, silly, or she’ll fall,’ I said.

  ‘Oh my!’ said Miss Gibson. ‘Would you believe it! She’s only a little mite, yet she leaped five foot in the air!’

  ‘I told you she was the star of the circus,’ I said proudly.

  ‘Well, wriggle down so you’re safely sitting on my shoulders, little Diamond. I’ll be a circus pony and take you for a ride,’ said Bertie.

  Diamond did as she was told, and Bertie ‘neighed’ and tossed his head and set off at a bizarre gallop, picking his feet up comically.

  ‘That boy!’ said Miss Gibson. ‘But you have to laugh at him, don’t you, Hetty?’

  I did have to laugh. I couldn’t stay distant and snappy with Bertie over lunch. He steered us towards the chop house. It was the perfect place, clean and friendly and not too expensive, and we all had a plate of lamb chops and mashed potatoes and cabbage. Even Diamond, who was often picky with her food, ate hers all up – though she did check with Bertie that it wasn’t made of horse.

  ‘Seeing as you’ve cleared your plate, little ’un, I think you deserve a serving of pudding,’ said Bertie. ‘You need to put a little meat on your bones. And you too, Hetty – you’re another Skinny Minnie. Look at you!’ He held my wrist, spanning his thumb and finger round it. ‘There! And I’m missing the top of that finger too!’

  He’d lost three of his fingers while learning the butchering trade. I was worried Diamond might be squeamish about it, but she seemed fascinated. She held Bertie’s hand and gently stroked the blunt finger ends.

  ‘Poor Bertie. It must have hurt and hurt. I bet you cried lots when it happened,’ said Diamond.

  ‘Well, it hurt like damnation, but I didn’t do anything as girly as crying,’ Bertie boasted.

  ‘You’re very brave.’

  I sighed at Diamond’s tone. Bertie caught my eye and winked.

  ‘I note you don’t say I’m skin and bones,’ Miss Gibson pouted in a girlish manner. ‘Don’t I get the offer of pudding?’

  Bertie smiled sweetly at her and kissed her plump hand. ‘You’re not skin and bones, dear Miss Gibson. You’re a very fine figure of a woman – I feel a helping of figgy pudding or jam roly-poly would enhance your natural beauty,’ he said.

  ‘Get away with you! Such nonsense,’ said Miss Gibson, pink-cheeked.

  She chose the figgy pudding with custard. Diamond opted for jam roly-poly. Bertie wanted a portion of each. I ordered a plate of rice pudding with strawberry compôte. I remembered how Mama had made the rice puddings at the hospital, and always contrived to give me the biggest spoonful of jam.

  ‘Why so thoughtful, Hetty?’ asked Miss Gibson.

  ‘I dare say she’s daydreaming about Jem,’ said Bertie sharply.

  ‘I was thinking of Mama,’ I told him.

  ‘Oh, how is your mother? Have you been able to visit her since you left old Buchanan’s?’ Bertie asked.

  I was so choked I couldn’t reply.

  ‘Hetty’s mama died, Bertie,’ Diamond whispered. ‘It makes her very sad sometimes.’

  ‘Oh dear. I’m so sorry, Hetty,’ Bertie said, sounding genuinely upset. ‘I know just how much your mama meant to you. Tell you what, would you like a little glass of port as a pick-me-up?’

  ‘Port?’ I said. My Foundling Hospital upbringing hadn’t been very educational.

  ‘Fortified wine.’

  ‘No thank you!’ I said. But then I pondered. I’d had wine at my foster father’s funeral and had quite enjoyed the experience. It had made me feel warm and happy and relaxed. I was feeling shivery and sad and anxious now, trying to plot a way of getting another audition with Mrs Ruby and worrying about Bertie. But most of all I was missing Mama so sorely I had to fight not to burst into tears.

  Would a glass of port help? I remembered I’d had a little too much wine at the funeral wake and had felt ill afterwards. Perhaps if I just had a tiny glass . . . A sip or two . . .

  ‘Is it possible to have just a teaspoon of port?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s not medicine!’ said Bertie. ‘Have a proper glass. It’ll only be a little glass, not a pint tankard! I’ll have one too – and I’m sure you’ll join us, Miss Gibson?’

  ‘And me!’ said Diamond.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said firmly. ‘You’re far too little, Diamond. I think I am too. But if you don’t mind giving me a small sip from your glass, Miss Gibson, that would be fine. I’d like to taste it.’

  After all that, I didn’t like the taste at all. It was exactly like medicine. But Miss Gibson swallowed hers down with obvious relish, so Bertie insisted on ordering two more. He seemed totally unaffected by his drinks, but Miss Gibson grew even more girlish, tossing her old-fashioned ringlets and giggling at everything Bertie said. They had a mock argument over who was to pay the bill, having a tug of war with the slip of paper in a childish fashion. I had my purse with me and suggested we divide it into three, but Bertie overruled us all, insisting on paying.

  This worri
ed me too: even though he was a music-hall star, I wasn’t sure he was earning very much. Last night his clothes had been very shabby. He was wearing what was clearly his best suit now, but it was shiny with wear, his shirt frayed at the collar. But I could see that paying the bill himself mattered enormously to him. He had always insisted on treating me when we walked out together, doing extra jobs to earn enough.

  Miss Gibson was a little unsteady on her feet as we walked back to the shop, but Bertie tactfully tucked his hand through her arm and steered her along.

  ‘I seem to be unaccountably sleepy,’ Miss Gibson said when we were home. ‘I rather think I need a little nap. Hetty, could you possibly mind the shop for me and call me if I have a customer?’

  ‘Of course, Miss Gibson,’ I said.

  I helped her upstairs. She flopped down on her bed and fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. I was sure she was uncomfortable in her corsets, but I had no way of wrestling them off her. I had to content myself with gently removing her tight little shoes and covering her with a shawl.

  When I went downstairs, Bertie was still there, joshing around with Diamond.

  ‘Well, thank you for a splendid luncheon,’ I said. ‘Now, I have work to do.’

  ‘And what’s that, Hetty?’ asked Bertie, sitting on the counter top and swinging his legs.

  ‘Get off that!’ I said, slapping at his calves. ‘I have to serve in the shop.’

  ‘But you haven’t any customers.’

  ‘And I must stitch Mrs Ruby’s dress.’

  ‘Well, stitch away then, and I’ll keep you girls company,’ said Bertie.

  ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do?’ I said.

  ‘That’s the joy of working at the Cavalcade. I’m free until seven or so every day,’ said Bertie. He jumped right over the counter, stuck a lace doily on his head and whipped a tape measure round his neck. ‘How can I help you, madam? A silk or satin gown? And a large pair of matching drawers with lace frill? Certainly!’

  Diamond shrieked with laughter.

  ‘That’s not funny, Bertie,’ I said, though my own lips were twitching. ‘We shall all get into terrible trouble if a real customer comes into the shop. Stop being such a guy and leave us in peace.’