‘It’s called acting, child – but it’s becoming more of a struggle! I should really let our ingénue, Stella, play Juliet instead. The girl’s young and pretty, but her acting’s wooden as a chair leg.’
‘No one could ever take over from you,’ I said.
‘I think you’d better come round to my dressing room every evening to give my confidence a boost!’ she said, smiling at me. ‘There’s the dress, hanging over the screen. Do you really think you can fix it so quickly?’
‘Of course I can,’ I said, taking hold of the dress.
It was a shabby little gown when she wasn’t wearing it, the blue velvet faded and worn and the white muslin in tatters. It would be a challenge to fix it up – but I’d have sewn her an entire trousseau overnight if she’d demanded it.
I wanted to stay chatting with her in her dressing room, but I knew it would be foolish to risk encountering Samson again. I ran off, promising Miss Royal that I wouldn’t let her down, and joined up with Diamond and Bertie, who were sitting on the steps of the Cavalcade.
‘Come on, Hetty! I can hear Lily Lark singing. Samson will be out any minute,’ said Diamond, jumping up.
‘Has he been pestering you again?’ asked Bertie.
‘No, no – we just don’t like him, that’s all,’ I said quickly. I didn’t want Bertie to tackle him – it was clear who would win any tussle.
Bertie himself knew this, and he cursed Samson all the way back to Miss Gibson’s, going on and on about him. Even Diamond couldn’t coax him out of his mood. When Bertie and I said our goodnights in the dark, I tried being extra sweet to him, whispering little compliments, rubbing the back of his neck until he relaxed.
‘I love you so, Hetty,’ he said, winding a lock of my hair round his finger. ‘Do you really love me back?’
‘Of course I do,’ I said. ‘There now. I’m so glad you’re not angry any more.’
‘You’re an artful little witch, Hetty.’ He reached for the Mizpah ring, turning it round and round on my finger. ‘You’re mine, aren’t you? You’d never run off with a drunken oaf like Samson, would you?’
‘Do you think I’m a fool?’ I said, and I mock-clouted him about the head. ‘Come on – one more kiss and then I have to go indoors.’
I didn’t go to bed straight away. Long after Miss Gibson had gone upstairs I sat sewing by candlelight. I cut into a length of new soft white muslin, deciding I would do just one sleeve, but when I had done it I felt I had to complete the job and do the other sleeve too. I was so tired my eyes kept blurring, but I could still see that the new sleeves made the blue velvet look very old and tired, and the hem was beginning to fray.
I went to bed thinking of ways to improve the old costume. When I went to sleep, I dreamed I was wearing the blue velvet gown myself, peering down from the balcony, distracted by love. I gazed into the darkness and saw a figure in the shadows, but I couldn’t see who it was.
When I woke, I started working on the Juliet costume again. Miss Gibson didn’t have any blue velvet to remake it from scratch. I decided to embellish the worn parts instead.
I stitched silver brocade ribbon around the hem, which instantly smartened up the dress and made the folds of the skirt hang more crisply. (I only remembered that it would be obscured by the wretched balcony later on, but consoled myself that Miss Royal would like it all the same.) I gave Diamond a length of the ribbon to decorate Adeline and Maybelle’s dresses.
Then I started embroidering. I thought of the moon images in the play, and the fact that Romeo and Juliet were called ‘star-crossed lovers’. I sewed a shining moon on the front of the dress, and added silver stars at random, knowing they would catch the light when Miss Royal was on stage.
‘You’re turning that gown into a little masterpiece,’ said Miss Gibson.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked her anxiously. ‘What if Miss Royal doesn’t like it? Do you think she’ll be angry with me for adding embroidery? She might prefer it plain.’
‘Then she’s a fool,’ said Miss Gibson. ‘But you can always unstitch it all. Though not before I’ve taken careful note of your design. It’s very similar to the new art that’s all the rage in Paris. You’ve got such an eye, Hetty.’
‘Do I have an eye too, Miss Gibson?’ Diamond lisped, widening one eye and squinting with the other.
She held up Adeline and Maybelle. Their brocade ribbon was puckered in places, but Miss Gibson praised her lavishly and then made us tea and sponge cake. Diamond insisted on thimbles of tea and crumbs of cake for her dolls.
‘’Cos they get as hungwee as we do,’ she lisped. While we were getting ready for the show I held Diamond at arm’s length.
‘Is your little-girly act all pretend, Diamond?’ I asked, looking her straight in the eye. ‘All this play with the dolls, and lickle teeny voices, and flouncing about? You don’t need to pretend with me. I don’t mind in the slightest. I’m just curious.’
‘Well . . . I like playing,’ said Diamond. ‘And I like it when people think I’m sweet.’
‘I always think you’re sweet,’ I said. ‘But very artful. Now, have you done your stretching exercises? We can’t get sloppy. The Little Stars have to be perfect all the time.’
‘I’m sick of being a blooming Little Star,’ said Diamond, in her old street-girl voice.
She was perfect for the performance, though – a lovely little doll herself, landing on my shoulders with perfect precision yet again. When we came off stage I was excited to see Marina Royal standing in the wings.
‘Bravo!’ she said, embracing us.
‘I have your repaired Juliet dress safe, Miss Royal,’ I told her happily.
‘Well, you really are a Little Star. I’m very grateful. Could you bring it up to my dressing room in the interval after the second act?’
‘Certainly,’ I said.
I loved it that she didn’t mind me visiting her in her dressing room. Lily Lark wouldn’t allow any of the other artistes in hers, not even Mrs Ruby herself. Diamond wanted to come too, of course, so I took her with me.
Bertie was left kicking his heels irritably. ‘What am I supposed to do, just hang about while you fawn over old Ma Royal?’ he demanded.
‘Don’t you dare talk about Miss Royal in that rude way! I’m not going to “fawn”, as you put it. I’m simply returning her costume,’ I said. ‘I had to do a little repair work for her. She asked me specially.’
‘So how much is she paying you?’ Bertie asked.
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking for payment,’ I said. ‘Not from someone like Marina Royal.’
‘Well, more fool you. I never thought you’d be such a mug, Hetty.’
‘Oh, mind your own business!’ I snapped, and flounced off.
‘Poor Bertie,’ Diamond remarked as we went upstairs to the dressing rooms.
‘I hate it when he interferes and tells me what to do,’ I said.
‘That’s what ladies are supposed to like, isn’t it?’ asked Diamond.
‘Well, I’m no lady – and I hate being bossed about,’ I said.
‘You boss me sometimes. A lot of times.’
‘No, I don’t! I look after you!’
‘It’s all right, I don’t mind,’ said Diamond. ‘You have your little ways.’
‘I don’t know, one minute you’re acting like a baby and the next you sound like a wise little old woman,’ I said, grinning at her.
We knocked on Marina Royal’s door and she told us to come in. She was in her wrapper again, applying fresh paint to her face, lots of white under her eyes and pink on her cheeks to look like a youthful Juliet. She’d undone her hair, and it tumbled down past her shoulders in great shining skeins, rich red darkening almost to purple.
She looked so marvellous I was awestruck again, scarcely able to say a sensible word.
Diamond had more wits about her. ‘Good evening, Miss Royal,’ she said, actually bobbing a curtsy.
‘Hello, dears. No need for curtsies, poppet. I’m not the old
Queen, in spite of my surname!’
‘I absolutely love your hair, Miss Royal!’ said Diamond.
‘And I absolutely love yours, Little Star,’ she said. ‘So long and yet not a single tangle! You’re very diligent with your brushing.’
‘Hetty does it for me,’ said Diamond. ‘If I fidget she threatens to spank me with the hairbrush, but she’s only joking.’
‘She makes a very good job of you, dear. You look a regular Alice in Wonderland!’ said Miss Royal.
I was beginning to feel a little out of it. I wished my own hair were longer and luxuriant and a more subtle colour than bright orange.
‘I’ve brought you your Juliet gown, just as I promised.’ I pulled off the tissue paper with a conjurer’s flick and displayed the renovated costume in all its glory.
‘Oh my Lord!’ Miss Royal gasped, looking shocked.
My chest went tight with fear. ‘Don’t you like it? I’m so sorry I took the liberty of embroidering it. It was just to cover up the worn patches – but I can unstitch everything quick as a wink if it’s not to your taste.’
‘It’s tremendously to my taste, dear girl. You’ve turned a dusty old dress fashioned from an ancient curtain into an exquisite gown that is the very essence of Juliet. Beautiful new sleeves, set in so neatly – and wonderful embroidery! You’re a genius! My, my, I wish you were part of the Parkinson Players. You’d spruce us all up in no time.’ She clasped the dress to her bosom and then gestured to me and embraced me too.
I breathed in the heady smell of her lily perfume and greasepaint and felt dizzy with happiness. ‘I wish we were too!’ I said fervently.
Miss Royal looked thoughtful. She gazed at me and then she gazed at Diamond. ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘I wonder . . .’
Then the bell rang, warning that the third act would start in five minutes.
‘I must get ready! You’d better run along, dears. Now, how much do I owe you, Little Star?’
‘You don’t owe me anything, Miss Royal. It was a pleasure to work for you,’ I said, and then I seized Diamond’s hand and pulled her away before Miss Royal could argue further.
‘That was a bit silly, Hetty,’ said Diamond. ‘You spent ages on that dress. She would have paid you heaps and heaps of money.’
‘I don’t want her money,’ I said grandly.
‘I might,’ said Diamond. ‘I could buy a new friend for Adeline and Maybelle, or maybe a perambulator to take my girls out for a breath of fresh air. Why didn’t you want her to pay you, Hetty? You took Mrs Ruby’s money when she offered it, and Miss Lark’s.’
‘They’re different. I don’t like them as much,’ I said.
‘Why do you like Miss Royal so?’ Diamond put her head on one side and adopted her wise old woman expression. ‘Is it because she’s a little like Madame Adeline?’
‘Not at all,’ I said. I was too gallant to say that Madame Adeline was sadly old and wrinkled beside the mature beauty of Miss Royal. They both might be redheads, but Miss Royal’s hair was real and abundant whereas Madame Adeline’s was only a wig. They were both artistes, but Marina Royal was still a leading actress of great renown, while Madame Adeline was now retired, and had only ever been a circus star.
I felt disloyal to Madame Adeline just thinking such thoughts inside my head. She still hadn’t written back to us. I’d consulted a map to find the exact location of Mr Marvel’s cottage in the country. It might be possible for us to get there and back in a day, though I wasn’t sure I trusted trains any more. Perhaps we could try one Sunday, when there was no performance?
‘Would you like to visit Madame Adeline?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes please! And Mr Marvel and all the monkeys, especially Mavis,’ said Diamond.
I seized grumpy Stan’s broom, propped against the wall in the corridor.
‘Jump on then! This is a witch’s broomstick and it can fly through the air. It will whizz us to Madame Adeline in less than a minute,’ I said, riding it energetically.
‘You’re a little witch all right!’ It was Samson, walking along the corridor, tying a fresh neckerchief at his throat. ‘You’re a minx when it comes to disappearing acts. Come here, you naughty girl! I haven’t seen you for days.’
My heart started thudding. ‘Hello there, Mr Samson,’ I said, making my voice as childish as possible. ‘I thought you’d be at the bar just now, telling your stories and amusing folk.’
‘I’d sooner amuse myself,’ said Samson. He consulted his enormous gold watch. ‘Damn, time presses onwards! You run round the corner, little Goldilocks, while I have a quick word with your sister. Go on! Hop it!’
Diamond stood fast, clinging to me. ‘I don’t want to!’ she said.
‘Do as you’re told. I’m the boss here,’ said Samson, flushing.
‘No you’re not. Mrs Ruby’s the boss.’
‘Don’t you argue with me, you little tinker!’ Samson seized hold of her.
Perhaps he was only going to give her a little shake, but I wasn’t having it. ‘Leave her alone!’ I screamed, grabbing Diamond. Then we ran for it.
Samson chased after us, but stumbled when we got to the stairs. We flew down, almost jumping, and then bumped into half the third-acters strolling towards the wings. We dodged past, and found Bertie.
‘What’s the matter? Why are you two running?’ he demanded.
‘We’re just having a little race, aren’t we, Diamond? Come on, let’s race to the first lamppost outside. You race too, Bertie!’ I said, as if we were just playing a silly game.
So the three of us raced all the way back to Miss Gibson’s and then had to lean against the shop window in a line, wheezing like bellows.
‘Oh my,’ gasped Bertie, clutching the stitch in his side. ‘And I thought I was fit with all that tap dancing!’
‘I ran faster than you two, I did!’ Diamond said triumphantly. (Bertie and I had behaved like diplomatic parents, slowing down towards the end to let her forge ahead.)
I turned round to press my hot forehead against the cold glass. I saw that Miss Gibson had a new display in her windows: one dress similar to the gown I’d sewn for Mrs Ruby, and a large green shawl embroidered with lilies like the ones I’d invented for Miss Lark.
‘She’s copied you!’ said Diamond, looking too.
‘I don’t mind,’ I said. ‘She’s been very kind to us. Where would we be without her?’
‘Is this our real home now?’
‘I suppose it is,’ I said.
‘No it’s not,’ said Bertie. ‘These are your digs. Digs are only temporary. Mine are too. But one day I wouldn’t mind betting we have our own little house.’
‘You and Hetty – and me too?’ said Diamond.
‘Bertie, don’t. She’ll believe you,’ I said quickly.
‘I believe it,’ said Bertie. ‘Don’t you, Hetty?’
‘Well, yes. But not yet. We’re still practically children.’
‘I’ve been fending for myself since I was taken out of the workhouse by Mr Jarvis the butcher when I was ten years old. Young Diamond was half that age when she started earning pennies. And you were barely fourteen when you became a little maid. I reckon we’re counted as adults now. Why can’t it be now? We’ll marry, Hetty, to make it all proper. Twinkle here can be our bridesmaid.’
‘Oh yes, oh yes! Will you make me a bridesmaid’s dress, Hetty? What colour will it be? Will it have lots of frills?’ said Diamond, clapping her hands.
‘Stop it, both of you! Bertie, you’re being very irresponsible, winding her up like that.’
‘Well, you’re the one that’s forever winding me up, blowing hot and cold. One minute it’s Oh yes, Bertie, I love you, of course we’ll be together, and then it’s No wait, I’m not sure, we’re just children, I don’t think I want to after all,’ said Bertie.
‘I didn’t say either of those things! Stop exaggerating. And don’t let’s have all this out in front of Diamond!’ I said.
She was staring at us uncertainly, her pretty l
ittle face ghostly in the gaslight. ‘Are you two playing or are you really cross?’ she asked.
‘We’re playing,’ I told her.
‘We’re really cross,’ said Bertie, and he turned on his heel and marched off into the darkness.
‘Oh dear,’ said Diamond. ‘Is he cross with me too?’
‘Of course not. No one could ever be cross with you.’
‘Mister was, back at the circus. And you were once, before we ran away,’ said Diamond.
‘Oh, don’t remember that, please! I promise I’ll never, ever be cross with you again. Now come on, let’s get you to bed. And we’d better give your lovely hair a hundred strokes with the hairbrush, seeing as Miss Royal admires it so much!’
MARINA ROYAL APPEARED in the wings to watch our Little Stars act again the next night – with Mr Gerald Parkinson. He was peering at us with narrowed eyes, puffing thoughtfully on his cigar.
When we pedalled off stage, they both made silent clapping gestures.
‘Well done, dears,’ said Mr Parkinson.
‘What do you think?’ Miss Royal asked him.
‘I think you have a point,’ he said.
We stared at them, not having any idea what they were talking about.
‘We’d like a little discussion with you.’ Miss Royal glanced round and saw Ivy Green trying to look nonchalant, but clearly listening intently. ‘In private,’ she added.
‘Can you come to Miss Royal’s dressing room at the end of the show?’ Mr Parkinson asked. ‘Perhaps you will be our guests for a light supper?’
I didn’t answer for a second, worrying about Samson, but decided to risk yet another unpleasant encounter if it meant supper with Miss Royal and Mr Parkinson.
She saw my hesitation and misunderstood. ‘Gerald, darling, they’re little girls. They should be home in their beds!’
‘They were at the club once with the Rubys, were they not?’ said Mr Parkinson.
‘Yes, and that’s another matter to take into consideration. We want to negotiate discreetly first of all. Tell you what, darlings – come and take afternoon tea with us tomorrow afternoon, at the Queen’s Hotel. Will that suit?’