‘You’ve made an awful lot of notes!’ I said, marvelling, for my hand ached if I attempted even a few lines of The cat sat on the mat.
‘Oh, this is my memoir book,’ said Hetty. ‘I’m just writing notes on the last page.’
‘What’s a memoir?’
‘Well, I suppose it’s just a grand name for a story about yourself,’ she told me.
‘I love stories!’ I remembered the little fairy tales Mary-Martha and I had coloured. ‘Does your memoir have fairies and witches and ogres and a handsome prince on a white horse?’
‘Well, you can be the fairy, Diamond. There are certainly several witches in the first volume – and one or two ogres in the second and third. And I suppose there was a handsome prince – but I don’t want to be his princess,’ said Hetty. She looked suddenly as if she might start crying. ‘I don’t think I do, anyway.’
I did not really understand, but I gave her a hug to try and comfort her.
‘Diamond! Get down here and watch the boys. It’s time you learned springboarding too. Leave that useless girl alone, do you hear me?’ Beppo bawled from the ring.
I felt Hetty wince at the word useless. ‘You’re not a bit useless, Hetty,’ I said fiercely.
‘Everyone else thinks so,’ she said. But then she put her chin up. ‘So I shall show them.’
And she did, oh she did! I was so scared for her at that evening’s performance. As we all lined up by the tent flaps, there was a great muttering, especially when we saw Mr Tanglefield stand behind Hetty. She looked very small and girlish, though she cut a fine enough figure in her scarlet riding coat and tall black hat.
‘The boss has taken leave of his senses,’ Beppo muttered. ‘That girl’s only got a mouse squeak. How can that silly flibbertigibbet ever hold the crowd?’
The band played a fanfare. We all stared at Hetty, half the folk thinking she might make a break for it and run off into the night. But she marched forward into the ring. We could not see her properly once she was there, but oh my goodness, we could hear her.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ she cried, in a voice so rich and loud, I think the entire town of Gillford heard her. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, little children and babes in arms – take heed! You are about to see sights that will dazzle your eyes and delight your hearts. Here is the amazing, magnificent and ultra-marvellous Tanglefield’s Travelling Circus!’
A great cheer rang out around the ring. All the circus artistes stopped their mutterings and gaped. Hetty was extraordinary! She played with that audience, announcing each act in astonishing sentences that tripped off her tongue as if she’d been a ringmaster all her life. Even Beppo shook his head and mumbled, ‘Well, she’s certainly got a way with words, I’ll say that.’
The audience was so well warmed up and appreciative that it made performing easy. We were all at our best. I was so excited I very nearly dared somersault down from Tag’s shoulders when we did the human column, so keyed up I felt my little wire wings might even fly me up to the top of the tent and back.
The applause at the end of the act made my ears throb. I glanced all around the cheering audience and saw one man hunched at the end, the only one not clapping. He wasn’t looking at us. He only had eyes for Hetty. It was her foster brother, Jem.
I DO NOT know if Hetty saw Jem. She didn’t mention him. She was flushed with triumph at the end of the show. Mr Tanglefield was so delighted with her success, he called for two of the circus hands to fetch beer from the nearest alehouse and held an impromptu party for his new star. There were still many circus folk who resented this new girl’s status, but they’d seen for themselves that she could work the crowd wonderfully, and they all drank to her success – even Beppo and my silver brothers. Madame Adeline was utterly delighted, hovering by Hetty’s side, feeding her little titbits and putting her own wrapper round her when she saw her shivering in the night air – though I think it was from excitement rather than cold.
Hetty drank little beer herself. She offered me a sip, but the very smell reminded me so painfully of Pa that I pressed my lips together and shook my head violently, which made everyone laugh. The men drank their fill, happily making the most of Mr Tanglefield’s rare generosity, and after an hour or so grew wild and raucous. Hetty only had half a glass, but she acted slightly drunk too, laughing and joking with everyone, slapping each man on the back and kissing Madame Adeline and Flora and me.
I did not want to risk upsetting her by talking about her foster brother. I knew it might make her sad to think that he had walked all those miles from their village to Gillford to watch her perform.
During the next few days I wondered if Hetty was thinking of him. She was still very anxious before each performance and wildly elated afterwards. She was restless between times, pacing backwards and forwards like the big cats in their cage. Sometimes she went off for long walks by herself and came back with sore eyes and a sad face, though she insisted she hadn’t been crying.
‘Are you missing your home and your folks?’ I asked her timidly.
She did not answer – just bent her head so I couldn’t see her face.
‘You won’t get so homesick that you leave the circus?’ I asked, desperate for reassurance.
‘No. No, this is what I want,’ Hetty said. ‘This is the life I’ve always longed for . . .’ But she didn’t sound sure. She held onto me tightly. ‘Do you sometimes feel . . . torn, Diamond?’
I didn’t know what she meant. I fingered my own shredded petticoat anxiously. ‘Torn, like my petticoat?’ I asked.
‘Torn in two – one of you wanting to be here, one of you wanting to be home. Only I don’t even know where my real home is.’
I tried to follow her, but it was too difficult. I had never wanted to be here at the circus until Hetty came along. I knew where my home was, but there was no point wanting to be there. It was like one of the riddles on the joke cards Pa sold for parties.
Hetty saw my puzzled face and gave me a hug. ‘Don’t look so worried, Diamond. Take no notice of my silly ramblings. Yes, your petticoat is torn. I’ll fix it for you. In fact I’ll make you a brand-new petticoat and a pretty dress to go over it. Would you like that?’
‘But I have my fairy dress for the show.’
‘This won’t be for the show. It’ll be for you,’ said Hetty. ‘What colour dress would you like?’
I blinked at her, too overcome to decide. Did she really mean it? I’d never had a new dress for myself. I’d always worn Mary-Martha’s cast-offs, and they weren’t even new when she got them. Ma had bought all our clothes in bundles from the rag shop.
I reached for the skirt of Hetty’s dress, a soft grey cotton patterned with tiny white flowers. ‘Could I – could I have a grey dress like yours?’ I asked.
‘You don’t want grey,’ said Hetty. ‘Grey cotton is for servants and country girls. You are a special circus girl, Diamond. You can wear something really bright and beautiful. You could have primrose chiffon or rose-pink muslin or sky-blue silk. Go on, choose!’ She looked at me, her blue eyes shining. Blue seemed the most wonderful colour in the world.
‘Please may I have blue silk?’ I whispered.
‘Of course you can!’ Hetty snatched up Maybelle. ‘She can have a blue silk dress to match. And I’ll make you each a white broderie anglaise pinafore so you can play at making mud pies whenever you fancy without spoiling your dresses.’
I still thought this might be a delightful game of make-believe – but the next morning Hetty went to the market in town and came back with great armfuls of material wrapped in brown paper. I spotted a wisp of sky-blue silk and felt a throb of happiness in my chest.
‘But how can you afford such fine materials, and so many?’ I said, slipping my hand in under the brown paper and stroking brocade and velvet and my own beautiful blue silk.
‘I made Mr Tanglefield give me an advance on my pay so I can make costumes for the company. And I got them very cheaply. I am old friends with the market m
en of Gillford. I used to drum up customers for them,’ said Hetty.
‘You can do everything, Hetty,’ I said.
I meant it sincerely, but she laughed at me.
‘My Lord, Diamond, I am hopeless at most things. I was the worst servant girl in the world. I was dismissed without a reference!’
‘When were you a servant, Hetty? Tell me more,’ I said.
‘One day I’ll read you my memoirs,’ she promised.
Hetty made my dress first. She helped herself to one of Mr Marvel’s newspapers – he kept a whole stack for lining the bottom of the monkey cage. She drew a design of a frock upon the pages: the bodice, the sleeves, the wide, wide skirt.
‘Isn’t it too wide all the way round, Hetty?’ I said doubtfully. It looked as if it would fit Flora’s ample girth.
‘It’s going to be gathered up until it fits snugly round your weeny waist, don’t worry. But I want it to be very full. I’m going to make you a very flouncy petticoat too. Then you can whirl round and round like a little spinning top.’
‘Oh yes! Oh please, yes!’
Hetty pinned the pattern to the blue material and cut it out with her special sharp scissors. They made an alarming rasping sound as they sliced their way through the silk, and my throat dried with panic in case it would all be spoiled, but Hetty seemed satisfied with each segment. She pieced them all together, her mouth full of pins, and then, when they were all assembled just so, she started the stitching.
She sat cross-legged like a tailor, head bent, her hand darting up and down as her needle flashed in and out of the material. I liked to kneel nearby and watch, loving the tiny puck-puck-puck sound of the needle and thread. Hetty stitched all day and half the night. When the dress was finished, she went to Madame Adeline and borrowed her flat iron, heating it very carefully and then letting it cool a bit in case it sizzled the silk. Then at last she called me and slipped the magical dress over my head. The silk was so smooth and soft it made me shiver.
‘Oh, Hetty, it’s so lovely! Does it look nice? Do I look pretty?’ I asked, dancing round and round.
‘You look beautiful,’ said Hetty, and she took me to peep at myself in Madame Adeline’s looking glass. A different girl entirely peered back at me – a fancy girl in a splendid frock, a girl so grand I felt I should curtsy to her, yet she was me!
‘Oh, Hetty, I love my dress more than anything,’ I breathed, scarcely able to speak. ‘It’s so bright and so soft!’
‘All little girls should wear soft, bright dresses,’ said Hetty. ‘I had to wear dreadful itchy brown frocks when I was at the hospital and I absolutely hated them. Your dress looks lovely on you, Diamond, I must admit. It will look even better with new petticoats. I will start them next.’
She was as good as her word, making me two flouncy petticoats edged with lace. I twirled round in them until I was dizzy.
‘You’re showing a little too much, Diamond,’ said Hetty. ‘I’d better make you a matching pair of drawers to keep you decent.’
I’d never worn proper drawers before and thought them delightful. Tag teased me unmercifully when I wore my finery, sometimes snatching up my skirts and laughing and pointing at my lacy legs. I was mortified, but Hetty came to my rescue.
‘What’s this fascination with Diamond’s drawers, Tag? Do you want a pair for yourself? How many frills would you like? And would you like a set of petticoats to go with them?’ she teased. He soon stopped tormenting me!
Hetty made me a crisp white pinafore to go over my dress while I was playing, and with all the leftover scraps of material she stitched a miniature set of clothes for Maybelle, lacy drawers and all.
I dressed her in her new finery and then danced her around with me. Hetty had sewn proper features on her face, and her little embroidered mouth smiled ecstatically. I ran to show Madame Adeline, and she admired us both.
I saw how worn Madame Adeline’s own clothes looked in strong daylight and wondered if Hetty might make her a new outfit too.
‘I’d like to, but I don’t want to offend or embarrass her,’ said Hetty.
‘You made me my dress and pinny and I’m not one bit offended or embarrassed,’ I said.
‘Yes, but you’re a little girl.’
Hetty thought about it hard, but decided a new frock for Madame Adeline would be too personal – and it would involve lots of complicated measuring. She couldn’t just go ahead and make one as a surprise. She decided to make her a new wrapper instead. The rose-patterned one was very pretty, but faded from much washing, the roses just fuzzy blurs. Hetty chose to make the new wrapper in black silk. I thought it might be a little plain and severe, but Hetty produced a bag of bright embroidery silks and set to work stitching wonderful red and yellow tulips all around the neck and hem.
She could only work on it intermittently, crouching in my wagon or sitting under a tree at the edge of the meadow, so that Madame Adeline wouldn’t see. When it was finished at last, Hetty let me be there when she gave it to her. I was a little worried at first, because when Madame Adeline held the beautiful embroidered wrapper up against herself, she burst into tears.
‘Oh, Madame Addie, don’t you like it?’ I said. ‘Hetty worked so hard to make it nice for you, but I’m sure she’ll fashion you another one if you’d like it better.’
‘I like this one,’ Madame Adeline sobbed. ‘It’s the most beautiful wrapper in the world. It’s absolutely exquisite!’
‘Then why are you crying?’
‘Because no one ever gave me such a wonderful present,’ she said. ‘Oh, Hetty, you are just like a daughter to me.’
‘And you are just like a mother to me now,’ said Hetty. I knew that meant a great deal, because Hetty had told me privately that she loved her dear mama more than anyone else in the world.
Hetty bought more silk – in brilliant colours this time: scarlet and purple, colours so hot it seemed strange that the material should still feel so cool and silky.
‘Are you making more wrappers, Hetty?’ I asked, wondering if she might be making one for me.
‘I’m making a costume for Mr Tanglefield,’ said Hetty.
‘For Mr Tanglefield?’ I said. I knew Hetty disliked him just as much as I did. She did a wonderful imitation of him – pouting and issuing little whining commands while waving her arms in the air so that everyone snorted with laughter. Tag always begged her to do it again and again.
‘I promised him a costume when he let me join the circus. I need to keep him on my side,’ said Hetty, spreading her silk out and pinning a paper pattern to it. It seemed a very large piece of paper.
‘Won’t the shirt be a little too big for him?’ I wondered.
‘It’s not a shirt, exactly. It’s like a robe. Indian gentlemen wear them down to their knees.’
‘Like a dress?’ I said, looking forward to seeing Mr Tanglefield in such a ridiculous outfit.
But when Hetty had finished making the scarlet robe, with wide purple trousers for underneath, worn with a gold brocade waistcoat and a vast turban of gold and purple, I did not laugh. Mr Tanglefield was immediately transformed into an Indian rajah, and couldn’t help looking utterly splendid. Hetty fashioned another tunic and turban for Sherzam, the elephant keeper, but in plain creams to make his lower status plain.
‘Now we must dress Elijah up to match,’ she said.
I squealed at the thought of a giant dress and trousers for the elephant – but Hetty contented herself with a brocade cloth for his great back. Then she helped herself to Chino and Beppo’s greasepaint, ran up a stepladder, and painted beautiful swirly red and black and gold patterns on Elijah’s head. Elijah wasn’t at all sure he wanted to be made up at first, but Hetty fed him a whole big bag of penny buns while she was doing it, so he held still and let her paint while he munched.
When Mr Tanglefield, dressed in his new oriental splendour, rode the adorned Elijah into the ring, there was a great gasp from the audience, and then a huge burst of spontaneous clapping. Mr Tanglefield h
eld his head high – possibly to keep his turban in place – and gave himself princely airs and graces. Elijah himself seemed to take a new pride in his exotic decoration. He picked up his huge feet and swung his trunk and swivelled his vast painted head so that all could admire it fully.
Hetty introduced them very imaginatively, though she veered a little from the truth, describing a wild beast captured on the Indian plains, bought for a small fortune, and trained with great courage and difficulty, whereas we all knew Elijah had been born in captivity as part of a Hippodrome Spectacular. He’d always had a temperament as meek and mild as mother’s milk, and had been sold at a bargain price to Mr Tanglefield when the Hippodrome Spectacular went bankrupt.
‘You needn’t think you’re dressing us in silks and satins,’ said Tag, who suffered enough in his silver spangles.
‘I would quite like a bright silk costume,’ said Julip.
‘So indeed would I, Miss Hetty,’ said Marvo.
I don’t think he particularly wanted a new fancy costume, but he seemed very keen to please Hetty. He followed her everywhere, trying very hard to be a gentleman, opening wagon doors for her and offering to lift her over muddy patches in the meadow when it rained.
Hetty was polite to him, but I could see that his attentions irritated her.
‘Can you find out if she has a sweetheart, Diamond?’ Marvo asked me.
I wasn’t sure if the foster brother counted as such. I thought it best not to bring him up with Hetty, but I did ask diffidently if she liked any of the circus men.
‘Oh, yes!’ she cried. ‘You have found me out, Diamond. I am lovestruck! My heart goes all of a flutter whenever I am near him.’
‘Oh, who is it? Is it perhaps Marvo? He will be so pleased,’ I said.
‘No, it certainly isn’t Marvo, though he’s a very sweet man.’
‘Then who is it? Julip?’
‘It’s not Julip either. All right, I’ll tell you, Diamond, but you must promise not to breathe a word. It’s Mr Marvel!’