I read it to Diamond for an hour or so when we got home. She liked the tumbling down the rabbit hole part. She became intrigued when Alice found the bottle marked DRINK ME, laughing in delight when the author declared it had a ‘mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast’.
‘Will I really have a drink that tastes so delicious when I play Alice?’ she asked.
I said yes to encourage her, though I very much doubted it.
She chuckled when Alice grew tiny as a consequence of the same drink. ‘I can do that, look!’ she said, crouching in a little ball and looking very sweet.
She liked the idea of a cake with EAT ME spelled out in currants too, though was more disconcerted at the thought of growing very, very tall with a giraffe neck. ‘How will they make me do that? Will they stretch me? Will it hurt, like Mister cricking me?’ she asked anxiously.
‘No, of course not,’ I said, though I couldn’t work out how they would manage it either.
The story was extraordinary and very funny, but it seemed impossible to stage. How would they manage a Pool of Tears? And what about all the strange creatures? I knew animals could perform. I’d seen Elijah the Elephant put through his paces every day at the circus, and Mr Marvel’s monkeys had a brilliant act, but how could there be a performing mouse, or indeed a dodo, which was surely extinct? Then there was a caterpillar, and two frog footmen, a baby that turned into a pig, and a cat with a grin that kept disappearing!
I couldn’t work out which part Miss Royal would play. There were no beautiful women in the story whatsoever, just a very bad-tempered Duchess and an even more terrifying Queen of Hearts who kept yelling ‘Off with her head!’
Diamond dozed off and I skipped through the rest of the story, puzzling. I couldn’t quite follow the plot, especially when they were suddenly at a beach with a Gryphon and a Mock Turtle and they all danced a bizarre Lobster-Quadrille. How could there be a seaside down a rabbit hole? And why were there suddenly so many playing-card characters?
I searched for another child part that I could play, but there wasn’t one. And I was starting to worry dreadfully about Diamond being Alice. She would be on stage all the time, and she had the longest lines of anyone. I wasn’t at all sure she would cope – though at least she looked the part.
I got her up early the next morning and showed her the key pictures of Alice in the story book, and she was quite good at striking poses, copying them. She looked calm and composed for the most part, not at all overwhelmed by her bizarre adventures.
‘There you are! You’ll be perfect, darling,’ I said, dressing her in her best blue dress and white pinafore. I knew that most actors wore their oldest clothes for rehearsals, but I wanted Diamond to look the part.
Miss Gibson was annoyed when we said we were off to the theatre for rehearsal. ‘But you’re supposed to help me sew, Hetty! That’s the way you earn your keep,’ she said petulantly. ‘You spend all evening at the wretched Cavalcade. You don’t need to go there during the day too!’
‘But we do, Miss Gibson, because we’re going to be little actresses now, not just music-hall artistes. Diamond is going to be the star of the Parkinson Players. Alice in Alice in Wonderland! We have to rehearse,’ I said.
‘And I have to make a living, and here I am needing to attend to new customers in the shop all day long because we’re so unaccountably busy, and if I’m stuck there, I can’t get on with all the costumes, can I?’ she moaned.
‘I think you’re unaccountably busy because of the new designs in the window, Miss Gibson,’ I said meaningfully. ‘And I will parcel up an unfinished gown each day and take it to the Cavalcade. I will only have a small part and so I can sit in the stalls and sew while Diamond performs. There! You’ve nothing to complain about now, have you?’ I put my arm round her and rubbed my cheek against her fat one.
‘Get away with you!’ she said, batting me away. ‘You think you can charm anyone, Hetty Feather, but it won’t work. I haven’t forgotten how impertinent you were to me.’ But even so she packed us up a little bag of jam tarts to sustain us.
It was a thrill to saunter past grumpy Stan so early and see his surprise.
‘What are you two doing here? It’s rehearsals only for them actor folk!’ he said fiercely.
‘We are the actor folk,’ I said grandly. ‘Miss Diamond is going to be the star of their new production.’
But poor Diamond didn’t shine. The players were all gathered on stage in various shabby but artistic outfits – worn velvets, tattered silks and trailing paisley scarves. The very fat person who was actually a man wore tight crimson cord trousers and a grubby dressing gown in daffodil yellow. He was playing another lady again, the fierce Duchess with the pig baby, shaking imaginary pots of pepper and causing havoc, making the rest of the cast laugh.
‘Ah, the Little Stars!’ said Miss Royal. She was wearing a faded floral tea gown and silver slippers, with several jade bangles clinking on either arm. ‘My heavens, Diamond, you look the part in that outfit! Pop up here on stage, dearie. Find her a copy of the script, someone. You’ll have to read your lines until you’ve got it all in your noddle.’
Diamond looked round at me, aghast. I’d tried to teach her to read properly, but she had barely progressed beyond The cat sat on the mat.
‘Diamond has a little trouble with her eyesight,’ I said quickly, not wanting to embarrass her. ‘Generally I read the line to her and then she remembers it.’
‘Very well,’ said Miss Royal. ‘Just for today. If it works for you.’
But it didn’t work. They went back to the beginning of the scene, with Stella playing the Cook, and the funny fat man playing the Duchess. He told us his name was Harry Hungerford. It sounded familiar. I remembered reading about him in one of Bertie’s stage journals. He was a very famous pantomime dame. He didn’t have a real baby – or, indeed, a real pig on his lap. He just had a pink cloth with pink sausage arms and legs and an alarming screaming head. He made it cry and squeal very realistically. Diamond stared, fascinated, and Miss Royal clapped her hands.
‘There! Look at that expression. Exactly right! Well done, child. You see, Gerald. She’s born to be Alice,’ she declared.
But when Diamond had to say her lines, she failed miserably. I held the script and whispered the words to her with the right expression and intonation. After several stumbling attempts Diamond did manage to repeat a few lines, but in her usual monotone.
‘No, dear. Not in that little doll voice. You’re not a ventriloquist’s dummy now. You’re a real little girl, in a most peculiar situation, but you’re very sensible, the only sane person on stage. You say: There’s certainly too much pepper in that soup! in a lively manner, proclaiming it to the audience, and then you pretend to sneeze.’
Diamond repeated the line syllable by syllable and attempted a very false sneeze.
Mr Parkinson raised his eyebrows and sighed. ‘Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea after all, Marina,’ he said.
Diamond looked miserable. By the time she’d repeated the line five more times tears were pouring down her cheeks.
‘Do it this way, Diamond,’ I said, going over the line again. ‘Look, I’ll sit in the stalls, and you can turn your head and say it to me.’
Diamond tried. She turned her head and looked exactly right. She just sounded terrible.
‘I’m sure she’ll pick it up quickly once she gets used to acting,’ I said.
‘But we haven’t got time, dear. She needs to be perfect by Monday week,’ said Mr Parkinson.
‘I’ll rehearse with her. Don’t worry – we’ll make it work, I promise.’ I tried all day long, slipping Diamond a jam tart as a reward every time she remembered two consecutive lines.
‘Jam tarts – how perfect!’ said Miss Royal.
‘Please, do try one,’ I said.
‘Mmm, absolutely delicious. Which baker did you go to? We’ll order some for the Knave of Hearts scene.’
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sp; ‘Miss Gibson makes them. She’s our landlady at the gown shop. I’m sure she’d be happy to provide them for everyone.’ I looked at Miss Royal imploringly. ‘You will give Diamond a proper chance, won’t you? You said yourself, she does look a perfect Alice.’
Poor Diamond plodded her way through the pig-baby sequence one more time.
‘She seems to be getting worse rather than better,’ Mr Parkinson groaned, clutching his head in despair.
‘She’s simply tired out now. Surely you can see she’s trying her best,’ I said.
‘But her best isn’t anywhere near good enough. This isn’t a village-hall tableau, dear. We are a professional company,’ he told me.
The word tableau gave me a sudden idea.
‘Could Alice not simply strike attitudes like a tableau?’ I suggested excitedly. ‘I think that would work splendidly. All the Wonderland people could act around her while she stands watching quizzically. It would show the difference between our world and Wonderland. I think it would be a fantastically original production.’
Miss Royal burst out laughing. ‘You’re certainly persistent, Emerald, and clearly a born director. What do you think, Gerald? Could her idea work?’
‘A mute Alice? Don’t be foolish,’ he said. ‘We’re wasting our time. Stella, come, you play Alice once more. God help us, you’re not right either – a grown woman who’s taller than all the rest of the cast.’
Poor Stella hunched her head into her shoulders. She was only normal size, but of course she couldn’t help towering over Mr Parkinson.
‘Stand before us and act,’ he commanded.
Stella stuttered her way through her encounter with the Duchess, totally unnerved. She spoke in an irritating childish lisp and struck dreadful babyish attitudes.
‘I think we’d better abandon the whole idea of doing Alice. What were you thinking of, Marina?’ Mr Parkinson groaned.
‘But it’s such a clever parody of the book, darling, with all sorts of risqué references that Cavalcade audiences will adore. I think it could work splendidly as a little set piece. Don’t look so woebegone, Stella, you did your best. And so did you, Diamond, dear – and you look such a picture in that pretty frock,’ said Miss Royal. She sighed. ‘And that wonderful hair!’
‘I like Hetty’s hair more,’ Diamond said, as she always did.
Miss Royal turned and looked at me appraisingly. ‘I wonder . . .’ she began.
‘We can’t have a carrot-top as Alice,’ said Mr Parkinson.
‘We could find her a wig. Haven’t you worn a yellow wig in the past, Harry? I’ll see if I can fish it out of the props box.’
Oh my goodness! This was my chance! I pulled Diamond nearer. ‘Would you mind terribly if I had a go at playing Alice?’ I whispered.
‘Not at all. I don’t want to be her, ever!’
But Mr Parkinson was frowning. ‘I know you’ve taken a fancy to these little girls, Marina, but I can’t really be doing with child performers. They don’t know what they’re doing.’
‘You’re totally wrong, sir,’ I said, rushing to the centre of the stage. ‘I’m sure I could be your Alice. Please give me just five minutes of your time and I’ll show you!’
‘There, Gerald. You have to admire her spirit! Let us give her five minutes,’ said Miss Royal. ‘Hand her the script, someone.’
‘I don’t think I need it,’ I said, truthfully enough, because I’d gone over the scene so often with poor Diamond that I already knew it by heart.
Harry and Stella assumed their places and I opened an imaginary door. I immediately reeled back, hand over my nose, giving little explosive sneezes. I made the too-much-pepper remark as an aside to the audience, shaking my head.
Then I peered at the rolled-up rug on the floor, a strange white smile painted on its end. ‘Please would you tell me why your cat grins like that?’ I asked, circling the rug warily as if it might grow paws and scratch me.
‘It’s a Cheshire cat,’ declared Harry as the Duchess, in a wonderfully throaty female voice. ‘And that’s why. Pig!’
I jumped, though the Duchess was addressing her unfortunate baby. ‘I didn’t know that cats could grin,’ I said.
‘They all can,’ said Harry, ‘and most of ’em do.’
‘I don’t know of any that do,’ I said politely.
‘You don’t know much,’ said Harry. ‘And that’s a fact.’
‘Well, I know something!’ Miss Royal exclaimed. ‘You’re a born actress, Emerald Star! Oh my Lord, you little wonder. There, Gerald! See! Admit I’m right!’
‘You’d better say so, boss, because the little sweetheart is Alice to a T, carrot-top or not,’ said Harry, and he put his arm round me and gave me a hug.
Even poor Stella clapped me limply with her long pale hands.
Mr Parkinson smiled at me. ‘Welcome to the Parkinson Players, child,’ he said, but he couldn’t help adding, ‘Let’s hope this isn’t a fluke! I need you to be word perfect in every scene, and no fluffing.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
I looked at Diamond. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’ I mouthed at her.
She shook her head fervently.
‘Then I’m thrilled!’ I declared, and I actually skipped about the stage. I wasn’t being deliberately childish. I was just so ecstatic that I had to jump about.
BY THE END of the afternoon we’d gone through the whole play twice. I still had to learn all my lines, of course, but I’d got into the swing of the story now and found myself reacting naturally as Alice. And I’d found a little part for Diamond too! When we got to the scene where the Cheshire cat is up a tree, they stuck the painted rug up on a piece of scenery tree. It didn’t look convincing.
‘How about using a little person dressed up as a cat? A little person who could leap up a tree just like a cat? A little person who would have hardly any lines to say, but could probably mew very convincingly?’ I said to Miss Royal.
She laughed. ‘I wonder who that little person could be? Very well. I think it’s a good idea, Gerald.’
‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘It’ll mean further fiddling around, and where are we going to find a small cat costume?’
‘That’s easy. I’ll make it,’ I said. ‘Diamond, show Mr Parkinson how neatly you can climb up the tree and then balance right at the top, grinning from ear to ear.’
‘I won’t have to say anything, will I?’
‘No, just mew like a cat. You can do that! Mew, mew, mew!’
Diamond shrugged, bounded up the tree and squatted there, grinning and mewing for all she was worth. The whole company burst out laughing, even Mr Parkinson.
‘Yes, I agree it looks effective. Very well, you pair of little minxes. Go home now. We all need to eat and rest before tonight’s performance.’
‘Thank you so much, sir. And thank you, Miss Royal,’ I said.
I wanted to kiss her on the cheek the way I had Miss Gibson, but I was still too much in awe of her to try.
Poor Diamond plodded home exhausted, but I was still dancing on air. I showed off tremendously to Miss Gibson, but she seemed irritatingly unimpressed.
‘I don’t know what you’re doing, throwing in your lot with those actors. They sound like fly-by-nights,’ she said disapprovingly.
I was sure Bertie would be thrilled for me. I couldn’t talk to him in the boys’ dressing room because I didn’t want to see them all lolling about in their undergarments. I had to wait till we were in the wings together. He was still being a little standoffish so I slipped my arm about his neck.
‘Bertie, you’ll never, ever guess!’ I said.
‘I hate it when people say that,’ he said, wriggling away from me.
‘Oh, Bertie, do listen! It’s absolutely amazing. Diamond and I are going to be part of Mr Parkinson’s Players while they’re here! Miss Royal asked us. They’re going to do Alice in Wonderland. It’s a children’s book, but their play version is more sophisticated, with topical jokes, the sort of thing that goes do
wn wonderfully at the Cavalcade, you know.’ I spoke as if I’d been a music-hall artiste all my life.
‘So what part are you going to play – Alice?’ said Bertie sarcastically.
‘Yes!’ I said triumphantly. ‘Well, they wanted Diamond at first because of her long fair hair.’ I looked at Diamond, suddenly remembering to be tactful. ‘But then they thought it was rather too big a part for such a small girl.’
‘Much, much too big,’ said Diamond. ‘So now I’m a funny cat and I get to jump up in a tree and I only have to mew and I can do that – listen.’ She demonstrated noisily.
‘And so they chose me as Alice. I’ll have to wear a long fair wig, but they think they’ve got one already. Oh, Bertie, I’m so thrilled! Why are you looking at me like that? Diamond doesn’t mind not being Alice, I promise you.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ he said stiffly.
‘What’s the matter with you? You wouldn’t want to play Alice, would you?’ I was joking, but I saw Bertie’s eyes flicker. Oh Lord, had I been so concerned about not hurting Diamond’s feelings that I’d been tactless with Bertie? ‘You don’t want to act too, do you? I mean, you’ve always said you wanted to be a music-hall artiste. You sing and you dance. Do you want to act too?’
‘Of course not,’ said Bertie loftily, but he didn’t sound sure.
Perhaps he just wanted to be asked. Was he jealous that I’d been chosen? Bertie had made it in music hall before me. He had worked so hard on his performance, but it was still in the first act. He was only a second-acter because he was a foil to Ivy Green. I’d popped up out of nowhere, been promoted to the second act in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and now had the leading part in the play. I was such a fool. Of course he was struggling with his feelings.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said softly.
‘Why are you sorry?’
‘Because I’ve just been showing off and behaving insufferably. I just had to tell you straight out, though, because you matter more than anyone to me apart from Diamond – I hoped you’d be pleased for me,’ I said.