‘That man’s being silly,’ said Diamond.
‘Yes, he is,’ I said. ‘I think we’ve made a mistake, Diamond. I don’t want to be a music-hall star any more. I’m glad Mrs Ruby turned us down. When this stupid Samson person has finished his spiel, I think we’ll make a bolt for it.’
‘Now it’s time to stop all this jesting,’ said Samson Ruby. ‘I’d better get on with the job in hand.’
‘It should be your job, Hetty,’ said Diamond loyally.
‘Let’s go, Diamond. Come on,’ I said, seizing her hand. We felt our way in the dark towards the door at the back of Mrs Ruby’s box.
‘It gives me great pleasure to introduce the first of tonight’s artistes. He’s a little chap with a great big heart, and the twinkliest toes that ever trod this stage. Ladies and gentleman – if there are any in the audience – please put your hands together to welcome little Master Flirty Bertie, our pocket-sized princeling.’
‘Hetty? Aren’t you coming?’ Diamond hissed.
‘Just wait a second,’ I said.
I watched a small young man bounce out onto the stage, waving his straw hat in the air, his white spats and black patent boots moving so fast they blurred. His hair was slicked flat with pomade, his eyes were ringed with black paint, his cheeks reddened with rouge. I recognized him instantly, even in this bizarre guise. It really was my own dear Bertie!
HE WAS GREETED by a roar of applause. He threw his hat in the air in acknowledgement, grinning broadly. I knew that grin so well!
I hadn’t even said goodbye to him when I lost my position with Mr Buchanan. I tried to seek him out, but I’d given up easily, telling myself that he had other girls interested in him, especially the ones in the draper’s shop nearby. He wouldn’t miss me one jot.
Maybe that was true. But I’d missed Bertie. I realized now that I’d actually missed him terribly. It was so strange to see him strutting his stuff on stage, doing an elaborate dance while singing a funny song with a very catchy chorus:
‘Bertie’s my name and flirting’s my game,
I’ve an eye for every girl. Don’t give a fig!
I have a little chat, then give ’em a pat,
Yes, it’s bliss,
Trouble i-i-i-s-s-s,
I’m slightly small and they’re all BIG!’
A succession of very tall, glamorous girls swished up and down the stage as he sang. They were dressed in bright red costumes that showed a great deal of their shapely legs, and wore white kid boots with very high heels. I guessed they were dancers from another act, but they made a perfect foil for Bertie.
He winked and grinned and raised his hat to them, though he barely came up to their waists. He tried dancing a waltz with one, which looked very comical. It was even funnier when he attempted to kiss another – he had to jump up to reach her lips, his legs shaking with the effort.
He performed slickly, his timing perfect. He could have been on the stage all his life. It was hard to picture him in his striped butcher’s apron, juggling sausages and chops.
‘Is he your Bertie?’ Diamond whispered.
‘Yes, he is,’ I said proudly, though I wondered if he would even remember me. He was the same Bertie, and yet so different now. He was a true music-hall star. I was a nobody. Mrs Ruby had turned me down flat, and now I could see why. My childish patter would never work for this adult audience.
I’d been so proud working as the ringmaster for Tanglefield’s Travelling Circus, but now I saw I’d simply been an infant novelty in a very small affair. I certainly couldn’t compare myself to Bertie. I suddenly felt I’d failed at everything I’d tried. I’d been a very poor servant, argumentative and slapdash. I’d made a passable market trader, but I’d only lasted five minutes. I’d been a reasonable attraction at Mr Clarendon’s Seaside Curiosities, but there was no skill involved in lying on a patch of sand pretending to be a mermaid.
You’re a child of Satan, Hetty Feather. You’ll never amount to anything at all!
Had Matron Bottomly been right all along?
I bowed my head, struggling not to cry.
‘Hetty?’ Diamond whispered anxiously. ‘Are you all right? Don’t you feel very well?’
I sniffed fiercely. ‘I am fine,’ I said.
‘Don’t you care for your Bertie’s act?’ she asked.
‘I think he’s very talented.’
‘I wish I was talented,’ said Diamond. ‘I’m not a child wonder any more, am I?’
‘Yes, you are,’ I said.
‘Mrs Ruby thought I was hopeless.’
‘You were just a little under-rehearsed, that’s all,’ I said. ‘I am the hopeless one. I can’t do any acrobatics, I can’t sing, I can’t dance, I can’t even announce any more, not for a great big rowdy crowd like this.’
‘Nonsense, Hetty,’ said Diamond firmly. ‘You can do everything!’
She said it with such utter conviction that I was suddenly cheered. I had no business being down-hearted and self-pitying. I couldn’t give up now. I had Diamond to look after. Perhaps I could still figure out some way to make us music-hall stars.
I watched the following artistes with great concentration. I’d been right about the tall girls. They danced in a very bold way, showing off their long legs in a line like cut-out paper dolls. I couldn’t be a dancer – I was only half their size.
Peter Perkins was a comedian, wearing a tweed suit, with a bowler hat perched on the back of his head. I didn’t understand half his jokes, but the audience seemed to like him and laughed in the right places. I couldn’t be a comedian because I didn’t know the right sort of jokes to entertain a crowd like this.
Signor Olivelli, the maestro of Italian opera, was extremely bald and extremely stout and extremely old. It looked as if he’d been a maestro a very long time ago. I expected his voice to be wavery and cracked, but it was still incredibly powerful. He gave a very energetic performance, waving his arms about, his shiny head flung back, his chin vibrating. The crowd didn’t act like opera lovers, but they sang ‘La-la-la’ to the familiar bits. Several men did their own Signor Olivelli imitations. I hoped he was too wrapped in his performance to notice. I certainly couldn’t sing operatically.
Then there was Araminta, the Exotic Acrobatic Dancer. She wore another very brief costume and didn’t even have fleshings covering her legs. She waved them around a lot, doing the most extraordinary high kicks, so that her knee pressed against her powdered nose. I knew for a fact that I couldn’t do that.
‘Could you do that, Diamond?’ I asked, because she was remarkably bendy.
‘I’d have to be cricked really hard and it would hurt,’ said Diamond. ‘But I’ll try if you really want me to, Hetty.’
Araminta then arched backwards and walked like a crab.
‘You can do that, Diamond, I’ve seen you do it a hundred times!’ I said.
Araminta climbed onto a little platform, still bent over backwards. She bent even further – until her head stuck right through her legs in the most peculiar and disconcerting fashion. She revolved like a bizarre top while the audience squealed.
‘I couldn’t possibly do that!’ said Diamond.
‘And I wouldn’t want you to either. She looks revolting, all tied up in a knot,’ I said.
There was a ventriloquist act next – Benjamin Apple and Little Pip. Little Pip was a bizarre doll with a very pink face, red cheeks and a big square mouth. He sat on Mr Apple’s lap and spoke in a strange high-pitched voice.
‘Is he a real little boy?’ Diamond asked.
‘No, he’s a painted doll,’ I said.
‘But he can talk! Dolls can’t talk, not even Maybelle.’
‘I don’t think he’s really talking. The Apple man is doing the talking for him.’
‘Mr Apple’s mouth isn’t moving, though.’
‘I think it is, just a very little bit, only we’re not close enough to see.’
‘No, I think Little Pip’s a real boy, a very tiny one. I like him!’ said Diamond.
/> I suddenly wondered if Diamond and I could possibly perform a pretend ventriloquist act. I could sit on a chair with Diamond on my lap, pretending to be my doll. I would do all the patter and poke Diamond in the back when I needed her to respond. She certainly looked convincingly doll-like, with her big blue eyes and long fair hair.
I started tingling with excitement. Yes, this was a truly original idea! Mrs Ruby could have a little novelty act immediately after Benjamin Apple and Little Pip. It was a trick often used in the circus – real acrobats would do their act, and then the clowns Chino and Beppo would come gambolling on and imitate them, with disastrous results.
‘I have an idea!’ I whispered in Diamond’s ear.
She looked at me anxiously. I suppose she had every right to be wary of my ideas now, but she didn’t protest. She just leaned against me, her head drooping a little, and by the time the first act finished she was fast asleep.
Everyone went to the bar to take refreshments. I was hampered by Diamond, who was leaning heavily on my shoulder. I was very thirsty now and my stomach rumbled because we’d had no supper.
I thought I would simply have to put up with this state of affairs, but then the door to the box opened. A curly-haired waiter with a long white apron came in carrying a silver tray. It held a pitcher, two glasses, and a plate of little pies.
‘Lemonade and oyster patties, compliments of Mrs Ruby,’ he said, putting the tray down on a table at the side of the box.
‘Oh my goodness!’ I forgot Diamond altogether and jumped up. She tumbled sideways and then rubbed her eyes sleepily, looking bewildered. ‘Look, Diamond, Mrs Ruby’s sent us a little feast!’
‘What is it?’ Diamond sniffed the patties suspiciously. ‘Are they meat? It’s not horse, is it?’
She had unwittingly eaten stewed horsemeat at the circus and it had horrified her.
‘No, no, they’re oyster patties! I’ve read about them in books. They’re a treat, the sort of food you have at parties,’ I said.
‘I don’t think I like them,’ said Diamond.
‘Then all the more for me,’ I said, taking a big bite. ‘Ooh, delicious! Come on, Diamond, try a little nibble.’
We ate and drank the lemonade, which was freshly squeezed and sugared to take away the tartness.
The waiter returned after five minutes to collect the tray. ‘If you should care to use the facilities, Mrs Ruby says you’re very welcome to go to her private closet just down the corridor,’ he murmured in my ear.
We did care to use them. They were a revelation, so grand that Diamond sat on the lavatory for a long time, pretending she was a queen on a throne. There was even a wash basin with golden taps.
‘Do you think they’re real gold?’ Diamond asked.
‘Goodness knows,’ I said. I lathered my hands with beautiful violet soap. I dabbed a little froth on my wrists and behind my ears, as if it were perfume. Even wealthy Mr Buchanan hadn’t had perfumed soap, just plain carbolic. This Mrs Ruby really lived like royalty.
Sven, the Russian Sword-swallower, started the second act. Diamond wasn’t so sleepy now and we had a whispered discussion about him. She was convinced that Sven was swallowing his long steel swords right up to the hilt. It certainly looked like that, but I was sure there was some trick involved, though I couldn’t work out what it was. Then Sven started juggling with fire sticks, even thrusting them into his mouth in an alarming manner. If I tried that, I’d end up with my insides skewered and my hair burned black.
Then there was a ballet with a painted woodland backdrop. The girls wore filmy white dresses with white satin ballet slippers. They went right up on their points. Diamond stood up in the box and tried to stand on the tips of her toes, but she toppled over onto the floor.
‘How do they do that?’ she whispered, scrambling up again.
‘Goodness knows,’ I said. I liked these graceful ballet girls more than the showy dancers with their bare legs, but the ballet did go on rather a long time.
There were two principal dancers, Vladimir and Véronique, who were dressed as a king and queen. They struck poses and twirled about interminably. Diamond curled up with her head on my lap and went back to sleep, and I found my own head nodding. Fortified by their interval drinks, the crowd grew restless and rowdy, but Mr Samson Ruby thumped his gavel and glared at the worst offenders.
The next act was a singer called Ivy Green. She was clearly a big favourite with the crowd, because they clapped and cheered the moment she came on stage.
Diamond woke again, and peered over the edge of the box at her. ‘Isn’t she pretty!’ she said. ‘She’s just like you, Hetty!’
Ivy Green was a redhead like me, but her hair was darker, thicker and longer, tumbling down to her tiny waist. She was small like me, but very curvy, and her green and white dress was cut very low to show off her chest. She had a loud voice like me, but she used it to sing powerfully, making her clearly audible even at the back of the theatre. She sang several songs because she was so popular.
The last one was clearly everybody’s favourite, because they cheered when she sang the first line. It was a long comical ditty about all the men who were in love with her: they were all sweet boys, but somehow she couldn’t lose her heart to any of them. As she sang, different men pursued her on stage, going down on their knees, presenting her with bunches of flowers and blowing her kisses. I recognized Sven, now in evening dress with a swirly cloak. There was the waiter, his curly hair squashed down under a top hat, which he flourished at Ivy Green. Peter Perkins was dancing attendance too, a rose between his teeth. And there was Bertie, my Bertie, two-stepping all around Ivy Green and then coyly kissing her hand. This got a special laugh from the audience.
Diamond laughed too and then looked at me. ‘It’s Bertie! Don’t you recognize him?’ she cried.
‘Yes, it’s Bertie,’ I said flatly. He looked as if he really, really cared for Miss Ivy Green. Who could blame him? She was so pretty, so talented, so successful. Bertie wouldn’t be remotely interested in me now, not when he had the chance to charm a girl like her.
It was painful watching them. I was very glad when the Ivy Green act ended the second half. Diamond and I waited hopefully, and after five minutes the waiter reappeared in our box. He was back in his white apron, his curls a little flat now, and carried another silver tray – this time with a silver teapot, delicate rose-coloured cups and saucers, and a plate covered with pink and white sweets.
‘Rose-petal tea and Turkish Delight confectionery, with the compliments of Mrs Ruby. She hopes you’re enjoying the show,’ he said.
‘Please thank her very much and tell her we’re enjoying the show immensely,’ I said.
‘We especially like Ivy Green!’ said Diamond, and looked puzzled when I glared at her.
There was no milk or sugar on the tray, but we discovered that rose-petal tea tasted splendid just by itself. The Turkish Delight was unbelievably good too. At first I thought it would be polite to leave a few on the plate, but we tucked in greedily and they were soon gone. Then we licked our sugary fingers. Diamond actually tried to lick the plate, but I took it away from her.
The third act seemed even longer than the others. We both dozed through Mr Daniel Dart, the Demon Knife-thrower, and Ali Baba, the Mysterious Magician. The barks of Miss Sally Sunshine’s performing spaniels woke us up. Diamond was more of an animal lover than me, and practically fell out of the box she was leaning forward so eagerly. She clapped and clapped each doggy trick, and was especially delighted when they were all dressed up as a family, with the littlest spaniel a baby in a bonnet and long trailing dress that tripped her up.
‘She’s just like Mavis!’ she cried. ‘Oh, Hetty, couldn’t we have monkeys and form our own animal act?’
She had been very fond of Mr Marvel at Tanglefield’s Travelling Circus. He had a troupe of performing monkeys. Diamond loved them all, especially the littlest one, Mavis. I wondered if we could start up our own animal act. But Mr Marvel had raised
his monkeys from infancy, and had spent years training them. We didn’t have years. We didn’t have months or even weeks. We needed to perfect a good act immediately, while we were fresh in Mrs Ruby’s mind.
I tried out various mock-ventriloquist routines in my head while further acts trooped on and off stage. Then there was another ballet – just Vladimir and Véronique this time. She wore a much shorter white dress with a full skirt that emphasized her large thighs. Vladimir wore a white tunic on his broad torso, but oh my goodness, he wasn’t wearing any trousers at all, not even short breeches! He wore very tight white fleshings that showed off his long muscled legs. Indeed, they showed off more than his legs! Diamond and I watched, our mouths open.
The spectators were less reticent, particularly those in the gallery. They roared with laughter, they cat-called, they shouted out incredible insults. They must have been clearly audible to Vladimir and Véronique, but they danced on as if oblivious, only listening to the orchestra in the pit. They were beautiful dancers, much better than the girls in their woodland ballet, but Vladimir’s abbreviated costume made it hard to concentrate.
They were followed by a troupe of comic tumblers, wiry little men in clown costumes. They were a clever choice to put on after the ballet dancers. The crowd could laugh some more and let off steam. However, those clown costumes brought back horrible memories for Diamond and me. She climbed onto my lap and hid her face in my neck. I stroked her back and whispered soothingly to her, and yet inside my head I was thinking that this could be part of our ventriloquist routine. She would look so sweet. I was certain the audience would adore her.
Then, last of all, Lily Lark appeared. She was much older than I’d imagined, and not really very pretty, with a round red face and a top-heavy figure. I was surprised that Mrs Ruby had put her top of the bill, but Samson introduced her as a music-hall legend. When she started her act, I could see why.
Her voice made Ivy Green sound like a mere warbler. Lily Lark sang real operatic songs, but with her own made-up comical take on a woman’s lot in life. It was extraordinary hearing her sing little ditties about soothing a crying baby or scrubbing the doorstep to such surging dramatic music. It made you want to laugh and cry simultaneously.