‘Yes, but Diamond and I need to rehearse together all the same. And we can’t go as far as Ledbury Hill anyway. What if we were late back? Mrs Ruby will sack me on the spot if I’m so much as a second late on stage. No, Bertie. It’s out of the question.’
Bertie looked at me. Diamond looked at me. Miss Gibson looked at me.
‘Don’t!’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. I’d like to go, truly, but I just couldn’t relax and enjoy myself.’
They were still looking. Diamond seemed especially stricken. I struggled with myself. It was so hard. I’d got so used to thinking about myself and my own needs. It was the only way to survive at the Foundling Hospital. No one else looked out for you, so you were lost if you didn’t look out for yourself. Out in the world at the age of fourteen, you had to keep struggling, especially if you didn’t want to stay a sad little servant for ever.
The only person I’d cared for more than myself had been Mama. She’d meant the whole world to me – no, the entire universe. I’d loved her more than the moon, the sun, every twinkling silver star in the sky. I’d have dusted a thousand houses daily for her, trekked a thousand miles barefoot to seek her out. And where had it got me? I’d found her but I couldn’t keep her. She’d died, and I’d felt my heart shrinking, withering into a hard little shell like a walnut.
I loved my father, I loved Jem, I loved Bertie, but not with the same intensity. I’d liked little Diamond from the moment I found her lying under a wagon, sobbing bitterly, but I never thought I’d grow to love her. She sometimes irritated me, bored me, exasperated me – but I’d grown to care about her more than anyone.
‘All right, we will go for a picnic,’ I said.
‘To Ledbury Hill?’
‘Yes, yes, where else. It’s lovely there.’
‘Yes, isn’t it!’ said Diamond, hugging me.
Miss Gibson scurried to the kitchen to start packing a picnic.
Bertie took my hand. ‘We don’t have to go if it’s really going to worry you,’ he said.
‘I was just being silly. It will do me good to think about something else for a change. And Diamond will love it.’
‘And will you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
I did have a good day. It wasn’t hot and sunny, it was a grey day – positively chilly at the top of the hill, but I made everyone stand in a ring, and Diamond and I showed Bertie and Miss Gibson how to do the Lobster-Quadrille to warm us up. Bertie picked up the steps almost immediately. I expected Miss Gibson to flounder, but she was surprisingly spry and nimble. She couldn’t quite manage every intricate step, but she did a remarkable approximation. I knew it by heart but danced in a jerky fashion, as if I were Little Pip. Diamond was the true star, moving with such ease, her blue dolly shoes tapping away.
‘Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you join the dance!’ we all sang, and then we stepped faster and faster until we all collapsed in a heap, laughing uproariously, as warm as toast.
Our picnic wasn’t as splendid as the original one because we’d had no time to prepare anything.
‘I miss your apple pie, Hetty,’ said Bertie.
He didn’t cook us steaks this time, but he’d brought thick slices of honey roasted ham, and Miss Gibson had found tomatoes and lettuce and pickled beetroot in her larder. We ate our ham salad with wedges of bread and butter, then devoured a whole fruit cake between us, washed down with pink lemonade.
‘Oh my goodness, I’m full to bursting now,’ I said, flopping back on the grass.
‘So am I,’ said Miss Gibson, trying to ease her corset a little.
‘I’m the Cheshire cat now and I want feeding!’ said Diamond, squatting down and assuming her cat position. ‘Mew mew, I want some food! Nice fishy! And a tasty little mouse for my pudding!’
It was so strange – she could act beautifully when she was simply playing with people she liked.
‘Is that what you say in this play of yours?’ asked Miss Gibson. ‘Is it for children then?’
‘Yes,’ said Diamond.
‘Not exactly,’ I said quickly, because there were all sorts of grown-up jokes and asides that I knew would shock Miss Gibson.
‘What do you think of the girls being in this play, Bertie?’ she asked.
‘I think it’s splendid,’ he replied stoutly. ‘I shall be watching breathless in the wings, with my fingers crossed the whole time that it all goes splendidly.’
‘Really?’ I said. Then, ‘Watching with Ivy?’
‘She might be there too, I have no idea, but I won’t be aware of her. I’ll only have eyes for you two,’ said Bertie.
I smiled at him, I smiled at them all. Then I turned onto my front, my head in my arms, and whispered into the darkness, ‘It will be all right, won’t it, Mama? I want to act so badly. Will I really be any good as Alice?’
You will be wonderful, my love.
It was Mama’s voice, speaking in my heart. I knew she always told me the truth. But why did she sound so worried?
‘I’M SCARED, HETTY,’ Diamond whispered as we waited in the wings that night.
‘Me too,’ I said, taking her hand.
Our clasp was damp and slippy. I could feel her trembling.
‘But we’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why we’re so scared now. We’ve just got to do our old ventriloquist act, yatter-yatter, dance-dance, cycle-somersault through the air, both of us wave, off! Easy!’
But it wasn’t easy when we were both so het up. I was horribly aware that Mrs Ruby would be watching. It would be fatal if we made one fluff, one slip. Perhaps she would ban us from being in Alice immediately and we’d never get a chance to do even one performance.
‘So here they are, the child wonders, our Little Stars!’ Samson declared.
We were on! And somehow we worked our way through it. We managed our little piece of patter, and the audience laughed even more than usual. They gasped when I cycled on stage and Diamond sprang through the air. We came off stage in a hurry, desperate to go and change into our Alice costumes, but the applause went on, and Samson called us back.
‘Where are you, Little Stars? Come and take another curtain call!’
We had to run back and curtsy and smile. I tried not to look in Samson’s direction, but I couldn’t help giving him a quick glance. He was grinning at me, moistening his lips.
‘Quick, Diamond,’ I said, and tugged her off stage.
We hurtled back to the dressing room. I stepped into my blue Alice dress and pinafore and tied the blonde wig tight with the hair ribbon, then buttoned Diamond into her cat costume and smeared a red smile across her face.
‘I’m even scareder now, Hetty,’ she said.
‘Don’t be scared. You’re a cat. You’re a lovely smiley cat who climbs trees and says mew mew mew. You’re going to have fun being the cat, and everyone will think you’re sweet,’ I told her.
I rather wished I was playing a little Wonderland creature now, with hardly any lines. I thought of the dense pages of script I had to plough through, line after line after line. I couldn’t even remember the very first one! My mind was suddenly empty – no words at all. My throat went dry. I couldn’t speak. I caught sight of myself in the speckled mirror and a ghost girl peered back, panic in her eyes.
‘You’re going to have fun too, Hetty,’ said Diamond. ‘You’ll be a lovely Alice.’
I gave her a hug, and suddenly the words flashed inside my head again, though my voice came out in a croak.
Some of the showgirls were still getting dressed. They wished us luck, and Thelma ran off in her top and bloomers to fetch me a glass of water.
‘Here, take a sip or two. You too, Diamond. Whet your whistle!’
We sipped obediently.
‘Gawd, Hetty, you’re still so white!’ She reached into her bag and brought out a little silver flask. ‘Take a swig of this. Not too much or you’ll choke.’
The liquid burned my throat and made me shudder, but it brought a little colour to my
cheeks.
‘Better?’ asked Thelma.
I swallowed. ‘Better!’
‘Off you go then. Knock ’em dead, girls!’
‘Good luck, kids!’
‘You really are the Little Stars!’
They were being so sweet that I wanted to hug them all. As we dashed along the corridor, we passed Benjamin Apple with Little Pip in his suitcase. Mr Apple nodded at us curtly, but Little Pip called out, ‘Good luck, girls!’ in a muffled voice.
The Parkinson Players were gathered in the wings, ready for our entrance. They all looked surprisingly tense. Even Harry Henderson’s expressive face was set rigidly, like a mask. Stella was chewing her lips, spreading red greasepaint all over her long front teeth. Even Miss Royal seemed anxious: she was nibbling at the back of her hand and frowning.
‘Oh, what is it? Are you all scared that I’ll make a mess of things?’ I whispered.
‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ she said. ‘You’ll be splendid. This is just stage fright. We all suffer from it, especially on the first night of a show. But it will pass, don’t worry.’
‘Are you sure? I feel so terrible! I think I might be sick,’ I said.
‘There’s a bucket over there if you need it. We always have one handy.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Oh, the glamour of the stage!’
We waited while Ivy Green finished her vapid little song and dance and then pranced off stage, with Bertie and all the other men in attendance. Bertie broke away from them and put his arms round Diamond and me. He was hot and sweaty from his energetic dance, but comforting all the same.
‘Good luck, Hetty. Good luck, Twinkle. You’ll be wonderful.’ He felt for my hand. ‘Where’s your ring gone?’
‘Alice can’t wear a ring. But look, it’s on a cord round my neck,’ I said, showing him.
He smiled at me. ‘That’s my girl.’
The stage hands were rushing around getting the set ready. They couldn’t construct a real rabbit hole for me to tumble down, of course. I had to climb to the top of a ladder and then act it out slowly, swaying from side to side, pausing every now and then to say a few words. I felt sicker than ever at the top of the ladder, terrified I might lose my grip and fall.
On the other side of the curtain Samson was announcing our new comic play – ‘A saucy new version of everyone’s favourite kiddy story, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Remember, Wonderland’s that magic place where every bottle is labelled DRINK ME. We’d like that, wouldn’t we, ladies and gents? So give a big hand to the Parkinson Players, starring Miss Marina Royal and Mr Gerald Parkinson himself – plus, just for this production, the Cavalcade’s very own Little Stars!’
Then the orchestra struck up the strange swirly music Mr Parkinson had found for the introduction, the curtain went up with a swish – and there I was, in front of the huge audience.
I opened my mouth and the words came out, and suddenly I wasn’t Hetty any more, or Sapphire, or Emerald. I was Alice, and I’d seen a white rabbit on a river bank and followed him, and now I was tumbling down, down, down . . . and I ended up in Wonderland. Everything became curiouser and curiouser, and I swam in a pool of my own tears, and ran a caucus-race with the whole company and was given my own thimble as a prize by the Dodo (Mr Parkinson with a walking stick and a magnificent papier-mâché beak).
I had a puzzling conversation with a caterpillar (Marina Royal herself, smoking a hookah, sitting cross-legged in a green silk costume), and had a peppery encounter with a Duchess and her pig baby. Then at last I met the Cheshire cat, grinning at me up a tree, and just for a moment I stopped being Alice and was simply myself, praying that Diamond wouldn’t fall or mew in the wrong places, because I had to interpret her cat-talk to the audience.
She mewed beautifully, and then I joined the Mad Hatter and the March Hare and the Dormouse for a tea party. I played croquet with a stuffed flamingo in the Queen of Heart’s garden (Miss Royal padded out to look like Queen Victoria), and then we all joined the Mock Turtle and the Gryphon and sang and danced, before the final trial scene. This made reference to some recent scandalous affair, and the audience laughed and clapped. I didn’t get the jokes, but it didn’t matter. I was Alice and I had to take everything seriously.
Then the Queen shouted, ‘Off with her head!’ and I lost my temper and declared that they were nothing but a pack of cards. They all sank to the ground dramatically – while I told the audience that if they wanted to see them come alive once more, they should return to the Cavalcade the next evening, where they could join me in Wonderland all over again.
Then the cast struggled to their feet and we held hands and bowed. And bowed and bowed and bowed as the audience clapped and cheered. Miss Royal took me by one hand and Mr Parkinson by the other, and the three of us bowed again. Then I was pushed forward to stand at the very front of the stage, dazzled by the footlights, while the audience rose to its feet and clapped me.
I stood there in a daze, hot and sticky under my wig, shivering right down to my stripy socks, unable to believe it. They were all clapping me, Hetty Feather, the foundling child! I wasn’t a support act any more, I wasn’t a ringmaster introducing all the other acts, I wasn’t a silent living mermaid in a seedy tableau. I was an actress, the star of the play!
‘My little star,’ Madame Adeline had once said. Now I was!
There was great jubilation backstage during the second interval. Miss Royal herself hugged me and congratulated me, and then Bertie picked me up and swung me round and round, kissing me in front of everyone. He swung Diamond round too, and declared she was the sweetest little pussycat ever.
Mrs Ruby joined us and congratulated me. ‘You’ve stolen the show, you little minx!’ she said. ‘Well done! We’ll have to devise another little showcase act for you when the Players move on. You’re going to be a big draw now.’
Samson came too, a glass of red wine in his hand, and probably the contents of another bottle in his stomach. ‘Congratulations, Little Star,’ he said, lurching towards me.
He couldn’t do anything untoward in front of Mrs Ruby and half the Cavalcade cast. He tried giving my damp cheek a kiss, but I ducked away, pretending to be shy.
I was glad to see that Bertie was too busy giving Diamond a piggyback to notice. Then the bell went to announce the beginning of the third act, and our impromptu party was over.
Bertie walked Diamond and me back to Miss Gibson’s. She still thoroughly disapproved of our acting, but even so she had prepared a little party for us. She’d made a special iced sponge cake and opened a bottle of her home-made gooseberry wine. She gave Bertie a full glass, me a half measure, and Diamond a spoonful.
I scarcely slept that night. I relived the whole play again and again, sometimes lapsing into a dream where the whole Cavalcade turned into Wonderland and everyone sang, ‘Will she, won’t she, will she, won’t she, will she be a star!’
Then, at dawn, I woke properly and sat up in bed, hugging my knees. I decided it had been the second best night of my life (finding Mama would always come first). And it wasn’t over. I would play Alice again and again and again, until the Players left to start their autumn season up West. I had weeks and weeks of glory still to go.
I didn’t realize how quickly those weeks would pass. I started to get desperately tired. Alice was a long and demanding part, and it was sometimes a struggle without the first-night adrenalin to keep me going. During the day I had to sew, and then perform our own Little Stars act perfectly before the play itself. I was strict with Diamond and made her take a midday nap, but I tried to keep going myself. It didn’t always work: I would fall fast asleep in the middle of sewing a seam until I stabbed myself awake with my needle. I dozed off after picnics with Bertie, once when we were on our own and he was sweet-talking me.
‘Hey, wake up, sleepyhead! Am I that boring?’ he said, tickling me with a blade of grass.
‘I’m sorry, Bertie. I’m just so tired,’ I said, rubbing my eyes.
‘I think you need those wret
ched iron jelloids you see on all the posters,’ he told me.
‘Look, you try doing three jobs each day – sewing for old Ma Gibson, performing on a penny-farthing, and then having the lead part in a play. It’s blooming exhausting,’ I protested.
‘All right, all right, I know I’m not a star like you, everyone’s pet and darling,’ said Bertie.
But I wasn’t going to be a petted darling for ever. It would be over all too soon. The Players were already talking about their new season at the Duke of York’s. Miss Royal told me they were there for a full six months, doing Charles Dickens adaptations – meaty two-and-a-half-hour evenings, David Copperfield first, then an extended musical version of A Christmas Carol in December, and then Great Expectations in the new year.
I listened to her in an agony of longing. I wished I was a permanent member of the Parkinson Players! I’d have given anything to act with them for ever – and in David Copperfield too! I had my father’s copy, and I’d read it at least five times. Perhaps I could play the young Davy, with my hair hidden under a cap. I’d often passed myself off as a foundling boy, when I wanted to see how Gideon was managing.
Yes, I could be young Davy, and perhaps Diamond could be Little Em’ly. She would have hardly any lines – she’d just have to act shy and smile at me, and she could do that standing on her head.
‘What is it, Emerald? You look as if you’re going to burst,’ said Miss Royal fondly.
‘I was just thinking how much I’ll miss you. How I wish, wish, wish Diamond and I could be part of Mr Parkinson’s Players.’
She put her arm round me. ‘I’d love it if it were possible. You really have such potential. It’s a hard life, of course, especially for a child, but I survived happily enough. It’s actually much harder now, when I’m getting old and stout,’ she said sadly.
‘You look wonderful. When you act Juliet, you honestly look fourteen,’ I said sincerely.
‘Bless you, child! I wish it were possible for you to join us. But you’re on a contract to Mrs Ruby. She made that very plain when we gave you the part of Alice. You and Diamond are legally tied to perform in the Cavalcade for the next three years. Mr Parkinson can’t employ you if you’ve signed a contract to work for someone else. He wouldn’t dream of it. So I’m afraid you and Diamond have to stay here.’