Kitty Little (25 page)

‘I’ve put pounds on since last Christmas,’ she mourned.

Too late to point out that it should have been tried on earlier, or even that a diet might have been a good idea, for within twenty-four hours they would hopefully be playing to a packed house.

The audience, however, on that first night, was decidedly thin. For once the weather seemed to have beaten them. Outside a veritable blizzard raged, snow forming in drifts against the stage door.

‘We’re done for. Nobody will come out on a night like this,’ Archie moaned with gloomy pessimism.

‘That’s right, cheer us all up,’ Kitty said, coming to stand beside him at the open door and gazing upon a scene of fairy-tale whiteness. ‘So far we’ve an audience of fourteen, not counting the caretaker.’

‘This’ll finish us, Kitty. We’ve not been doing as well as we should lately and pantomimes are fiercely expensive to put on. If we don’t get a good audience this week, we could end up with a serious loss.’

 
‘Let’s not think the unthinkable shall we?’ Determined to remain buoyant, she stepped out into the road to check if a queue was forming. There wasn’t. She shivered, rubbed her hands up and down her arms to warm them then walked back inside, closing the door against a blast of icy wind. ‘It’s early yet. How’s Charlotte?’ she asked. ‘Feeling more relaxed?’

Archie’s face was expressionless as he assured Kitty that she seemed perfectly recovered. They both knew this to be untrue. Charlotte was becoming an increasing worry to them all, constantly flying into a rage for no apparent reason, or playing the prima-donna and seeming to revel in making everyone’s lives a misery. But the faintest hint of criticism about her irascibility and Archie would spring to her defence, citing first night nerves, or the difficulties of a childhood which still haunted her. As he was the only one who could get any work out of her, it was quite impossible to countermand such arguments.

Jacob appeared at their side, loudly complaining of a poor house and begging Kitty to forgive him for his unspeakably unprofessional behaviour at the Dress. ‘Gone on the wagon now. Won’t fall off it. Honest injun.’

Laughing and shaking her head in despair and disbelief, Kitty hugged him, a feat in itself in view of his increasing girth. ‘I have every faith in you.’

Jacob’s predilection to imbibe of the “Dutch courage” in order to counteract his stage fright, was beginning to be a problem. Archie merely smiled and said nothing, as usual. ‘However small the audience tonight, once they’ve seen Rod and Sam as the funniest Ugly Sisters ever, not to mention our delightful chorus of nymphs and shepherdesses, they’ll spread the word around town and everyone will come in droves tomorrow and for the rest of the week. See if they don’t.’

Thankfully the seats did fill up, in spite of the bad weather, but Charlotte took her revenge for losing the argument over the ballroom backcloth by delaying curtain-up by ten minutes. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she changed several of her moves and omitted a number of essential cues which made it look as if Felicity, in her role as Prince Charming, was the one at fault as she desperately tried to guess what Charlotte might say next and where on earth she was in the script.

A quarrel erupted the moment they stepped off stage, Archie valiantly defending Charlotte by saying that she was in dire need of a holiday. ‘Tired out, poor love.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ Kitty, performing as the Fairy Godmother as well as directing, since they never had quite enough people for all the parts, wished she could wave her magic wand to turn Charlotte into a calm, sweet natured, quiet person like Esme. But then that would be too much to hope for. Charlotte was arrogant, demanding and completely selfish while Esme was - Esme. Even now she was apologising to Charlotte for not having given her a prompt.

‘Nor did you produce the pyrotechnic flash on cue.’

Esme’s cheeks grew pink, for that certainly was not the case. Yet she knew better than to protest.

Charlotte turned on Kitty. ‘And you mumbled your lines. Archie was the worst Buttons in the history of the theatre, and Rod and Sam were wooden and never in the right place at the right time.’

‘Hey, steady on, old thing. That’s going it a bit strong.’ Even Archie felt moved to protest.

The Ugly Sisters had been an absolute riot, keeping the audience hooting with laughter throughout, almost completely upstaging Cinderella, which was probably the cause of Charlotte’s foul temper. It took all of Kitty’s tact and diplomacy to placate everyone and get them back on stage for the second act.

Amazingly, despite these squabbles and first night nerves, the audience responded well, clearly loving every minute, judging by their laughter and applause, proving the pantomime to be a great success. The rest of the cast, ever responsive to an audience’s mood were buoyant as a result, sharp on cues, almost flirting with witty ripostes, till even Charlotte was driven to lift her performance if she was not to be outshone. Which she did of course, magnificently.

Love her or hate her, the girl could act.

Chapter Fourteen

The weather improved as the week progressed, much of the snow melting away in a massive thaw. Audiences grew nightly but each evening as the actors prepared to go on, nerves were ever stretched to breaking point. Kitty made it her duty to set about calming ruffled tempers, soothe battered egos and lift everyone’s spirits. Some could be found huddled in a corner going over their script, while others would pace about the stage, striving to get in the mood. Tessa Crump always required one of her “little pink pills” and a frantic search for her sheet music. Felicity too often arrived only moments before curtain-up, frightening them all by this predilection she had for taking a spin on her bike when she should be in make-up. Nothing Kitty could say would persuade her to take the exercise earlier.

When Kitty warned Suzy not to practise her scales in the wings, within earshot of the audience, she loudly protested. ‘Don’t criticise me. Go and see to Jacob. He needs a firm hand if he’s to stay off that bottle.’

‘I thought you promised to stop this,’ Kitty gently scolded the old actor, removing a whisky bottle from the pocket of his ancient dressing gown.

‘Gets harder. That pit-in-the-stomach feeling,’ he mourned, looking thoroughly dejected and sorry for himself. ‘Won’t touch another drop Kitty. Honest injun.’

It seemed to be a never-ending battle to make the company toe the line, and despite going over what the stage manager had already checked a dozen times, there were the usual small panics and mini-crises. Some essential item of costume would tear and Mrs Pips would be found sewing frantically. A no. 9 make-up stick would be ‘borrowed’ or Esme would be chasing an actor for a prop that hadn’t been returned to her precious properties table after using it the previous evening.

The two minute call would be given and several of the youngsters would look green, as if about to be sick. Even the old hands would declare this must be their very last show. Never again would they endure this nervous torture. Then the opening number would begin, hearts would slow their frantic beat, chin’s would lift, deep breaths taken and off they would go, bouncing on stage with a smile and a song, delighted to be there and loving every minute.

When the week in Kendal finished they again took to the road, performing a watered down version of the panto in a string of villages from the White Hart Inn at Bouth to Meaburn Hall, from the Parish rooms in Shap to a billiard hall where they had to compete with the clicking of the balls, and in a Salvation Army hostel with a hymn practice going on in the next room. And on one never to be forgotten night in a school room close to Barrow docks with the sound of ship’s hooters intruding at every wrong moment.
 

As the pantomime season drew to a close, Kitty was already making plans for
A Spring Review
. Rehearsals began while they were still performing
Cinderella
and were soon well under way. There were a few moans and groans, the cast complaining that they were in dire need of a rest but when Kitty pointed out the size of the company’s bank balance, they knuckled down to work, as always.

Charlotte, however, was another matter.
 

In the final week of the season Kitty was making her usual tour of the dressing rooms just before curtain-up. Charlotte was adding yet more lipstick to an already vivid mouth; next came a liberal dusting of powder to rouged cheeks before she flicked off the excess with a rabbit’s foot. She’d never looked less like a virginal Cinderella.

‘A touch less colour, perhaps?’ Kitty tentatively suggested, knowing her remarks would be ignored. ‘Cinders doesn’t transform into a beauty until the end of Act One remember.’

Charlotte paused in the application of yet more carmine to her cupid’s bow mouth and, ignoring Kitty’s comment entirely calmly remarked, ‘I’ve decided to take a couple of weeks off, so you’ll have to line up an understudy for the start of the next tour. Got to go and see my dear old mother.’

A Spring Review
was already booked solid from the very next week, the first in March right through to the end of May and, as always, young females were hard to come by. So even if they could find someone, there was no time left for extra rehearsals.

Kitty side-stepped Mrs Pips as she bustled past to pin up a torn hem on one of the dancing girls, thereby gaining herself a moment’s grace before answering. ‘Sorry Charlotte, that’s not on, I’m afraid. We’re pretty stretched as it is. Everyone gets three days as a breather and that’s it, I’m afraid. All we can afford at the moment.’ Then she lifted her voice to address the entire company. ‘Chin, chin, everyone. Break a leg,’ offering the usual alternative to good luck, which theatricals believed brought anything but.

Clearly fuming at having her plans squashed, Charlotte turned her back on Kitty and screamed at Mrs Pips. ‘For God’s sake get that rabble out of here. I really should have a dressing room to myself. And where’s my fan? I’m so hot my make-up’s running. Oh, and make sure you dress my wig properly this time. It looked like a wrung out dish-mop last night.’

Ida Phillips opened her mouth to protest and then snapped it shut again.

‘Beginners please,’ Kitty called in her brightest voice, trying to avoid the mute appeal in the glance Mrs Pips cast her.

The one-time housekeeper waylaid Kitty just as she was making her escape. ‘I’d like a word please, about madam Charlotte, if you’ve a minute to spare. There’s something not quite right about that young lady.’ But Kitty didn’t have a minute. Kitty was far too busy to bother about Charlotte’s tantrums. A fact she would later come to regret.

There was a mildness now to the spring breezes and the winter wildness of the garden was pierced by spears of new growth: crocus and snowdrop, wild daffodils and violets. The barren fells still wore their cloth of Hodden Grey, like that once woven in Kendal town itself, and the rivers gushed and gurgled with the melted snows from the mountains. For the first time in months Kitty had time to think and draw breath, time to lie in her cosy bed with her delightful baby daughter crawling all over her, gurgling happy nonsense.

The exhausted cast was enjoying three glorious days to rest and recuperate at Repstone before the start of
A Springtime Review
. Kitty meant to take full advantage of the break by staying in bed all morning, instead of bouncing up to do her usual million and one tasks. She might even snatch an hour or two from her endless planning and organising to take Dixie out on the fells this afternoon, and quietly reflect upon these last weeks and those ahead.

Hopefully Archie would find time to do the accounts at some point during the weekend, if Charlotte permitted. Even as the thought came to her she heard the smash of crockery from the bedroom down the hall. Dixie, busily engrossed in trying to push open her mother’s eyelids to bring her properly awake, gave a small start of shock and began to cry.

Charlotte made no secret of the fact that most nights she shared her bed with Archie. No doubt he’d brought her breakfast in bed and for some reason she’d thrown it at him.

Kitty smoothed the soft down of her baby’s hair. ‘Don’t fret my darling. Only naughty Charlotte having a bit of a tantrum.’

Three days rest were insufficient time, apparently, to allow her to visit her “poor mother.” Rather unkindly Kitty wondered if the mother in question might even be relieved. Somehow, Charlotte in the role of dutiful daughter didn’t quite ring true.
 

Kitty put her head under her pillow, striving to blot out the sound of their noisy quarrel. Dixie, thinking this another new game, giggled all the more and was trying to pull it off again when there came a knock on her door. Wearily, Kitty dragged on a dressing gown and went to answer it. It was Frank.

‘Wondered if you and Dixie would fancy a charabanc trip to Morecambe?’

Another crash, and the prospect of another day coping with Charlotte’s temper was suddenly too much.

‘Why not?’ Anything to get away. Besides Dixie had never seen the sea, so how could she refuse?

Charlotte was railing over the injustice of Kitty’s decision not to allow her to go home. She stormed back and forth, fists clenched, the cerise silk tassels on her peignoir trembling with fury.
 

Archie, all too accustomed to her tantrums, was smiling benignly. He couldn’t remember having seen her quite this angry. But then she’d always been able to ‘play the drama-queen,’ or ‘put on one of her paddy’s,’ as he teasingly termed her outbursts of temper. She could, in fact, quote directly from any script, or play any role she’d ever performed. Today, she was playing Kate from
Taming of the Shrew.