Break of Dawn (18 page)

They didn’t enter by the main doors but by a side entrance, which Mr Gregory unlocked with a key. Sophy found herself in a long narrow corridor with various doors leading off, but Mr Gregory led her right to the end and then down a few steps to another door which he opened without knocking. A middle-aged, very good-looking and rather distinguished gentleman was sitting at a large desk. He looked up as the door opened and then his face split into a grin. ‘Kane. What are you doing here? I thought you had to be at the Empire first thing?’

‘I’m on my way.’ Kane drew Sophy in front of him. ‘I’d like you to meet Miss Sophy Hutton. Miss Hutton, meet Augustus Jefferson, a fine actor and the manager of this establishment.’

Sophy was so covered in confusion she almost curtsied, just managing to restrain herself in time and say weakly, ‘How do you do, Mr Jefferson.’

He didn’t answer, looking straight at Kane with raised eyebrows.

In answer to the unvoiced question, Kane said, ‘You still have one or two sylphs to find? Then perhaps Miss Hutton might do. I’ll leave her with you.’ And to Sophy’s alarm, Mr Gregory smiled, nodded, and said, ‘Goodbye, Miss Hutton,’ turning and closing the door behind him.

Her eyes had followed him but when Mr Jefferson said, ‘Miss Hutton?’ she snapped them back to the man behind the desk. ‘Mr Gregory has told you we open next week?’

She managed a nod.

‘Rehearsals start at three this afternoon. Please be punctual.’

She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. ‘I— What— I mean, what am I—’

He cut her stammering short. ‘What are you? A sylph, of course. Just follow the other girls and do what they do, it’s not complicated. The dress rehearsal is today so you’ll get some clothes from Wardrobe. All right?’

He looked down at the papers on his desk again, and when after a moment she was still standing there, raised his eyes to say, ‘Three o’clock, Miss Hutton. All right?’

‘Th-thank you.’ Somehow she found herself in the corridor, although her head was spinning and she was in a daze. Then she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice at her elbow said, ‘Hello there, and what are you doing outside Jefferson’s office at this time of the morning? Didn’t I see you come in earlier with Gregory?’

Sophy swung round to see a young slim man with one of the most beautiful faces she had seen in her life smiling at her. She would never have thought of calling a man beautiful before, but his features, along with his mop of fair hair and bluey-grey eyes made him so. It added to the unreality of the morning.

‘Well?’ His smile widened, showing a set of perfect white teeth. ‘You
can
talk, can’t you?’

She tried to gather her wits. ‘Of course.’

‘Glad to hear it. It would be such a waste if a delicious creature like you were dumb. So, are you joining us? Is that it? I’m Toby Shawe, by the way.’ He held out his hand.

Aware that he had said his name as though she should know of him, Sophy placed her fingers in his. ‘How do you do,’ she said weakly, her embarrassment increasing when he held on to her hand.

‘And you are?’

‘Oh, Sophy Hutton.’ Somehow she managed to extricate her fingers and took a step backwards.

‘Hello, Sophy Hutton,’ he said softly. ‘And am I right? Are you joining our merry little band?’

She nodded. His good looks combined with a slightly mocking air which, although not unkind, was making her shyer, rendered her mute.

‘I thought as much when I saw you with Gregory. Taken you under his wing, has he, our noble benefactor?’

She didn’t like the tone of the last words and her voice was stiff when she said, ‘Mr Gregory was kind enough to introduce me to Mr Jefferson this morning because he thought there was a part in the play I might be suitable for. That’s all.’

‘Believe me, sweet lady, if Gregory brought you here himself, there
would
be a part for you. Our illustrious manager knows on which side his bread is buttered.’

Sophy found that in spite of his overwhelming attractiveness, she wasn’t sure if she liked Toby Shawe or not. But then the next moment his whole persona changed as he took her arm in a friendly fashion, saying, ‘Come on, I’ll take you on a tour of everything while there’s not too many people about. That way, you won’t feel so strange when you come back later. What’s old Jefferson given you – one of the sylphs? That’ll be like eating cake so don’t worry. What other things have you done?’

They were walking back along the corridor but when Sophy said, ‘Nothing, I haven’t done anything else. This – this is my first job,’ Toby stopped, turning her to face him.

‘Is that so?’ he said softly. ‘Then welcome into the big bad world of the theatre, little fledgling.’

He wasn’t laughing now, and as Sophy stared into the angelic face it came to her who he reminded her of. Miss Bainbridge had been insistent her girls had an appreciation of art and culture, and to that end had introduced them to the works of many fine sculptors, painters, architects and poets. Sophy had been particularly taken with the creative genius of the Italian Buonarroti Michelangelo, and had pored for hours over the pictures of the Sistine Chapel and the Medici funeral chapel, but it had been his sculpture of David which had gripped her with its beauty and grace. And the same aesthetic purity of features was mirrored in this man’s face.

And then he smiled again, breaking the spell, pulling her along with him as he said, ‘They’re painting one of the backgrounds in the theatre, come and see – and they’ve got some hot coffee on the go. We’ll have a cup and then I’ll take you on the grand tour. One thing’s for sure, little fledgling. Your life will never be the same again after today.’

‘Oh my goodness, can you
believe
this bedding? It’s positively
dripping
. I shall have to go and have a word with the landlady, it’s too much.’ Christabel Ardington-Tatler – Cat to her friends of which Sophy was one – struck a dramatic pose in the middle of the grim little room on the second floor of the theatrical lodging-house in Shepton Mallet. ‘We’ll die of pneumonia before we even get on the stage of that wretched theatre at this rate.’

Sophy dumped her valise on one of the two single beds the room held and gazed about her. The room was no worse and no better than all the others they had stayed in during the tour, but Cat always had to have her little protest at the beginning of each new lodging-house. That was just Cat. She was vocal and militant and funny and fiercely independent, but her bold, self-sufficient exterior covered a heart of gold and Sophy was very fond of her.

‘It’s no good saying anything, Cat,’ Sophy told her. ‘It won’t make any difference. You’ll just annoy her.’

‘Annoy her?’ Cat plumped down on her own bed and then let out a little shriek. ‘Look at my eiderdown, it’s all holes. The mice have been having a feast. No, I’m sorry, this time I
am
complaining. I’ll be back in a minute.’

After Cat had swept out of the room, Sophy opened the battered
single wardrobe the room contained, wincing at the stale smell that assaulted her nose. She was definitely not hanging anything in there, it would reek for days. A slight movement in the corner of the room near the rotten skirting-board caught her attention, and a pair of bright round eyes stared at her for a second before the mouse shot back in its hole.

Mice again. Marvellous. That was another reason for not unpacking her valise. At their last stop she and Cat had found mice swinging from their clothes one morning when they had opened the wardrobe, and at another the walls had become alive with bugs at night.

She walked to the window which overlooked the street below and tried to open it, but it was stuck fast – the faded curtains hanging limply either side of the crumbling wooden frame. Lifting her eyes, she stared above the rooftops to where a bird was soaring high in the thermals, and smiled to herself. The company was playing three or four dramas a week, touring through many of the little towns of the south of England, but in spite of rehearsing all day, acting in the evening and arriving back at her lodgings in the early hours where she was lucky if she snatched five or six hours’ sleep, she was happy.

Her salary at the Lincoln had amounted to fifteen shillings a week, rising to a pound when she had gained a little experience by having a ‘walking-on’ part after six months, but when Mr Gregory had offered her the chance of joining his touring company where she might be able to tackle larger parts, she had jumped at the opportunity, even though she was financially worse off. She still earned a pound, but now, as well as having to pay for her costumes and digs, she also had to pay Dolly’s two shillings rent if she wanted to retain the tiny room which had become home.

Whilst at the Lincoln, she had managed to afford acting classes in the mornings, given by one of the working actresses from the West End. Sophy and several other girls had assembled in the actress’s sitting room, learning the techniques of a good entrance and exit, and how to throw their voices without shouting. This had been wonderful experience, not least because the theatre was
a hierarchical institution, and new recruits had virtually no contact with the established stars of the stage, and no idea how to negotiate even a minimum wage or what constituted a good or bad contract. By talking to the actress in question Sophy had discovered that the Lincoln was well regarded for paying a reasonable salary, unlike some other theatres.

As the door opened she was brought out of her thoughts by an indignant Cat. ‘That ghastly woman!’ Cat flounced over to her bed, her blue eyes flashing. ‘Do you know what she said to me when I complained about the damp sheets and the holes in the eiderdown? She said she had a hole in her’ – Cat stuck out her bottom and tapped her buttock – ‘and it had never done
her
any harm.’

The two girls stared at each other, Cat outraged and red-faced and Sophy brimming up with the laughter that burst forth in the next instant. Within moments the two girls were howling with mirth and by the time they regained control their faces were wet.

They were still giggling on and off when they made their way to the theatre later that day. It was a very old-fashioned building but that wasn’t unusual in the provinces. Only the number one tours played the major cities in the country; the number two and number three tours had to content themselves with visiting the smaller towns, some of which were merely large villages. Many of the provincial theatres were extremely ill-equipped, and the scenery, which the company always took with them on tour, often only just fitted on to the small stages.

Fortunately this tour was being conducted at the end of April – a perfect time, according to the old hands. Winter in the pro vinces was horrendous, with freezing cold theatres with inadequate heating and draughts of a magnitude second to none. Summer could be just as bad when the heat became unbearable and the clothes stuck to your back, and autumn could be a time of endless rain and mud. Spring was the best bet, they declared. Although you never could tell.

They were almost at the theatre when Cat said, casually as though it was of no importance, ‘Heard from Toby lately?’

Sophy took a moment to reply. The subject was still a painful
one. For the first little while at the Lincoln, Toby had made no secret of his interest in her and she had been both flattered and humbled that such a man, an accomplished actor who was greatly in demand, had even noticed her. He had taken her out to supper after the shows and been very attentive, even though those attentions had been a little too intimate on occasion, causing her to gently reproach him more than once. But it had been a magical interlude at the beginning of her career. And then had come the time when Toby had been offered the male lead in a new play on in the West End just after she had begun her first walking-on role at the Lincoln. He had told her he had secured a part for her too, a minor role admittedly, but still it
was
the West End. He had waited for her to throw her arms round him.

The play had been a conventional one, unlike the new drama the Lincoln favoured, such as Oscar Wilde’s
A Woman of No Importance
where the poorly used mother of an illegitimate son is the heroine. When the son is offered a government post by his unknown father, the heroine reveals the son to the father and the father to the son. At the end of the play the son renounces the hypocritical society that makes an outcast of his beloved mother while condoning the actions of his father. This criticism of morality caused a storm of protest, and more than one personage left the theatre shocked to the core. But Sophy liked the Ibsen and Shaw heroines who were Joan of Arcs rather than pretty dolls. She had told Toby this before but he clearly hadn’t been listening, or if he had, hadn’t taken her seriously.

So she had told him again, that day, more forcefully. At first he had treated her with the indulgent, faintly mocking air he favoured. ‘Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re saying, believe me. This is a wonderful opportunity.’

‘For you or for me?’

‘Well, of course for me, that goes without saying, but for you too. You want to get on, don’t you? You don’t want to spend the rest of your career working for Jefferson and Gregory in their little tinpot theatre.’

That had hit her on the raw. ‘The Lincoln isn’t a tinpot theatre,
you know it isn’t, and Mr Gregory has been very kind to me. I don’t know why you don’t like him.’

That wasn’t quite true. On the occasions when Mr Gregory came backstage at the Lincoln, he had made it clear that in his opinion, Toby still had plenty to learn about his craft. Toby had been angling for the male lead for a long time, thinking he could do better than Augustus Jefferson, and just before he was offered the part in the West End, he and Mr Gregory had had a heated exchange which had left Toby smarting and furious. Although Sophy adored Toby, she secretly thought Mr Gregory had a point. Toby
did
rely on his outstanding good looks when his acting ability wasn’t up to scratch; he did forget his lines and expect the other actors to put up with it, and he did miss rehearsals when he felt like it. The charm and charisma which Toby used to good effect with everyone else just didn’t seem to work with Mr Gregory, and the two tolerated each other at best and ignored each other when possible.