Forgotten Dreams (29 page)
It was still raining heavily when the cast left the theatre. As Lottie had guessed, Merle had taken her umbrella and was reluctant to share it. ‘Someone nicked mine from our dressing room the last time it rained after a performance,’ she said aggrievedly, ‘and your umbrella’s a stingy little thing with two of the spines broken, so there’s barely room for me underneath it. You share with Louella.’
‘But she’s sharing with Max,’ Lottie wailed. ‘C’mon, Merle; it is my umbrella after all.’
They were still arguing over who should actually hold the umbrella when they reached the stage door. Jack, hovering there, grinned at them and flourished his big black brolly. ‘Want me to walk you home, gals? I’ll do the decent thing and take you to your very door, then go on me way, though of course if you’d like to invite me in for a cuppa . . .’
This suggestion was greeted eagerly by both girls, for it transpired that Merle wanted to ‘nip along to Lime Street station for a word with Baz’, and Lottie simply wanted to get home. So they parted company and Jack walked Lottie back to Victoria Court and was invited in for a cup of tea and a piece of Mrs Brocklehurst’s fruitcake. Louella, setting tea and cake in front of Max, poured a mug for Jack and soon the four of them were discussing the script, though Max wagged a reproving finger at Jack. ‘I know you’ll keep ad-libbing, no matter what management says, but don’t you dare drag me into it,’ he warned. ‘I’m a lousy actor, and though I do try to learn my lines your ad-libbing makes cues pretty pointless. If you tell me you want me to do some particular bit of business, like lifting my skirt so’s the kids can see I’m wearing thick striped socks and football boots, then I can just about cope, but putting on a squeaky voice and saying a lot of foolishness isn’t my long suit and you know it.’ Jack laughed, but agreed that he would go steady with the ad-libbing.
Very soon, the cast began to assemble quite early in the mornings for panto rehearsals. Sometimes these went on all day, for management cancelled matinées in November and December. Despite Merle’s fears, she soon became word perfect in her part, as was Lottie, and they were able to enjoy rehearsals.
The ponies did not arrive until the dress rehearsal, when Merle, Lottie and Jess Henty decided to ingratiate themselves with the fat little fellows by feeding them sugar lumps whenever their trainer was not looking, for he had made it plain, the first time they met, that they should not titbit his charges who were quite fat enough already. He was a taciturn individual, never speaking an unnecessary word to anyone, and Merle said wisely that he would be the reason that the ponies did not seem to like people much. ‘They take after the fellow what trains ’em,’ she said. ‘But a sugar lump every time we see ’em will soon sweeten their natures, you’ll see. They’re bright little fellers and the kids’ll love ’em.’ Since both the little dapple greys had played their parts to perfection, tossing their heads and pulling the light little carriage from one side of the stage to the other without, as Jack said, leaving their calling cards, Lottie thought that Merle was probably right.
The dress rehearsal went extremely well. Lottie’s costume as Buttons was a scarlet pageboy suit, with a matching pillbox hat perched on her head. Her neat and shining bob looked just right and she helped Merle to brush out her mass of light brown curls for the ballroom scene, telling her friend admiringly that she looked just grand and would get more cheers than any other member of the cast.
‘Except for the ponies,’ Merle said with a chuckle. ‘One of the little buggers trod on me foot as they were being unbuckled from the glass coach and I swear it grinned at me. Still, Jack’s right; word’ll get around that we’ve got real ponies on stage and the kids’ll pour in, hoping to see us cope with a pile of steaming dung if nothing else.’
‘Thank God it’s not elephants,’ Lottie said devoutly. ‘Now, tomorrow afternoon we do the special matinée with what they laughingly call a selected audience, which means everyone’s relatives, landladies, pals and third cousins once removed, to say nothing of hangers-on, come along for free. It’s fun and afterwards we all go to a café and management treat us to high tea.’
‘Sounds good,’ Merle acknowledged. ‘I wonder if Baz will be able to make it?’
‘Of course he’ll be there,’ Lottie said at once. ‘Everyone wants to see a free show so he’ll invite anyone at Lime Street who isn’t working. I reckon there’ll be engine drivers, signalmen, and all sorts in the audience tomorrow.’
As Christmas approached, enthusiasm for the pantomime increased. ‘Jack is the ideal pantomime performer and grand to work with,’ Max told the two girls as they left the theatre one frosty night to walk home to Victoria Court. Louella had caught a tram, but Max and the girls liked a breath of fresh air after the show, and so had chosen to walk. ‘I was a bit doubtful about how I’d cope with actually having a part in the panto, even though I didn’t have many lines, but I’m really enjoying it. And Jack’s a big help with my quick change. Louella tries to give a hand but she’s pretty busy turning from Prince Charming into my assistant and back again, so Jack’s support has been invaluable.’
‘He is a nice bloke,’ Merle said dreamily. ‘At first he used to annoy me, always making fun, but then I realised he wasn’t just laughing at me but at everyone, and I stopped minding.’
‘There’s no malice in Jack. I grant you he’s got a wicked sense of humour but he’d never say anything wounding or unpleasant,’ Max agreed. ‘I hope you realise, young Merle, how lucky we are to be working with a company who all like one another.’
‘Yes I do,’ Merle said at once. ‘When I were working in Scarborough, there was a feud going on between the stage manager and one of the acts. Then two of the chorus simply loathed each other – they were both after the same feller – so if one were in the green room when the other came in, you could feel the atmosphere gettin’ colder and colder. Yes, you’re right, we are lucky. Ain’t we, Lottie?’
Lottie had been gazing up at the dark arch of the sky above, admiring the twinkling stars and the thin sliver of moon, deep in her own thoughts. This evening Jess Henty had had a streaming cold and had been sent home by the stage manager before, as he said, she gave it to every other member of the cast.
‘But who’ll lead the podies into the wigs?’ she had asked thickly, mopping her streaming eyes. ‘I suppose the traider could do it, but would he be willig?’
Lottie, standing nearby, had come forward. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘The ponies like me, and anyway they’ll follow anyone to hell and back for a lump of sugar. Obviously I can’t do the mayor’s wife or the chatelaine of the castle because I’m on stage at the same time as them, but Sally is about the same size as Jess so she could wear her costumes and no one’s going to notice if the chorus line has seven girls instead of eight.’
This had been agreed, so it was Buttons who had come forward, taken the pony’s bridle, and led the small procession slowly across the stage. As they had reached the wings, she had turned the equipage around and gone halfway back across the stage so that Merle might climb into the glass coach in full view of the audience. Then she and her charges had left the stage once more and the tabs had come down for a scene change.
Backstage, she had helped the trainer to unhitch the coach and take off the ponies’ fancy trappings, the plumed headdresses and the jingling bells, and as she worked something quite strange had happened. The warm stableyard smell had brought a picture flashing into her mind: the rounded rump of a horse, the big hooves shifting as she squeezed past to attach a hay net above the manger. Then the picture had flickered and died and she had been backstage once more, realising with a start of surprise that she had unbuckled the bridles without even thinking about it; had done it, in fact, as though she had been doing it for years.
‘Lottie? We are lucky, ain’t we, to work with such a happy company?’
Lottie returned to earth with a jerk, and agreed with Merle as they turned into Victoria Court.
‘What’s up with you this evening, Lottie?’ Merle asked curiously as the two of them were getting ready for bed. ‘You’ve scarcely spoken a word since we got home.’
‘Nothing’s the matter,’ Lottie said at once. She looked thoughtfully across at Merle. ‘Only – only halfway through taking the fancy bridles off the ponies, I had a sort of feeling that I’d done it before.’
Merle shrugged and slid into bed, and Lottie quickly followed suit, for their attic room was icy cold and Louella had given each of them a hot water bottle, which they had pushed into their respective beds as soon as they had entered the room. Lottie let the bottle remain near her feet and felt the warmth begin to thaw out her frozen toes. Presently, she would bring the bottle up and cuddle it, and would very soon fall asleep. But Merle was talking. ‘. . . we’ve both watched Jess and miserable Mr Monkton harnessing and unharnessing the ponies dozens of times since the panto started,’ she was saying. ‘So it’s not surprising you knew how to do it. It’s a good thing, though, because I reckon Jess will be off until the end of the week. I jolly well hope she is, ’cos the last thing I want is a horrible cold in the head. It’s all right for Jess, she don’t have to sing, but when I get a bad cold me voice turns into a croak.’
Lottie, already halfway to sleep, murmured drowsily that she supposed Merle was right. Then she began to feel beautifully warm. Memories of the ponies’ soft muzzles twitching against her palm as she fed them sugar lumps mingled with the words she had spoken as Merle had climbed into the coach. ‘So you’re off to the ball, Cinders, leaving poor old Buttons behind. Well, I hope you have a wonderful evening. You’ll be the belle of the ball . . . belle of the ball . . . belle of the ball . . .’
She slept.
In the dream she was walking along a woodland path, dappled by sunshine and shadow. She looked around her and knew that it was spring because the leaves on the trees were pale but bright and the grass which edged the path was beginning to show new growth. She continued to walk along and saw ahead of her that the trees thinned so that presently she would be in full sunshine. As always in the dream, she felt wonderfully peaceful and happy, though her senses were sharpened and she used all of them to try to discover where she was and what was happening. As she came out of the shelter of the trees, she felt the sunshine blissfully warm on her neck and shoulders, and saw that she was wearing a skimpy brown blouse and skirt. She listened. Birdsong fell on her ears like music and the chuckling of water told her that there was a stream nearby. She walked on and presently she was beside the river, looking down into its limpid brown depths. There was a good smell here, a smell of water and river weed, with a faint scent of flowers. She looked to her right, away from the river, and saw a bank studded with primroses and violets and felt triumphant; she had known it was spring and here was proof positive.
She went on walking and presently saw ahead of her that someone else was also on the path. It was a boy, and as soon as she set eyes on him she knew who it was: the boy with the golden eyes. He was leading an absolutely enormous horse, ebony in colour, and when he heard her coming up behind him he turned and smiled. ‘Hi, Sassy,’ he said, sounding pleased but not at all surprised. ‘Did you get ’em?’
‘Hi, Troy. Course I did,’ Lottie said and realised, with some surprise, that she was carrying a string bag which contained a quantity of potatoes and also a good deal of earth. ‘The farmer didn’t charge me because I gave him a hand catching the pony. His wife wanted to go into town, so they’d got the trap ready but they couldn’t catch the little devil.’
‘Gran’ll think you nicked ’em,’ the boy called Troy said calmly. ‘But if you tell her straight away what happened it’ll be all right because, as she’s always saying, she’s brung you up to speak the truth. Are you going straight back to her, or will you come with me to set Champ out to graze while we have our dinners?’
‘I’ll come wi’ you, Troy,’ Lottie said joyfully. ‘Now we’re clear of the trees, grazing will be easy to find. And I’m going to pick Gran a bunch of flowers – she do so love to have flowers about her.’
As she spoke she saw, in her head, a neat little room, its windows curtained in scarlet and white gingham; saw also a small blue vase on a table which gleamed with polishing and a tall green water carrier embellished with paintings of roses and lilies. There was writing round the rim but before she had a chance to read what it said her attention returned to the pretty little vase which was empty now but would soon be full of primroses and violets, so that the faint sweet scent of them would fill the little room.
Right now, however, she, the boy and the horse abandoned the path and began to climb a grass-covered slope. Where it dipped into a tiny dell a stream bubbled and it was here that Troy unwound a long length of rope attached to a spike, the other end of which was fastened to Champ’s rope halter. He stamped the spike into the ground with his heel and gave the horse an affectionate smack on the rump as it lowered its huge head and began to graze. ‘No need for the tether really; there’s enough grass in this hollow to last the old feller for days. But Gran’s a stickler for playing fair,’ he said. ‘If the farmer happens by he’ll likely not see him, tucked away in the hollow down here. But if he does spot the old boy, he’ll see the tether and know that Champ won’t go wandering off into some other field, where mebbe young corn is sprouting.’ He turned away and began to climb out of the hollow once more, with Lottie close behind him. ‘Race you back,’ he shouted suddenly. ‘I’ll give you a start as far as the gate ’cos you can’t expect a six-year-old to beat a feller of twelve.’
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