The Songbird (32 page)

She put her elbows on the table and gazed at Poppy as she sipped her tea and Poppy self-consciously continued her breakfast. ‘But surely,' Poppy murmured, ‘I shouldn't need to use a novelty if my voice is good enough?'

‘No, you shouldn't,' Dolly Trenton agreed. ‘And is it?' Without waiting for an answer, she went on, ‘The Terry Sisters can't sing for toffee, but they can dance and they tart themselves up so's you'd never know it was them if you saw them out in the street like what they really are; and folks love 'em. They like a bit of vulgarity, you see, so that's what they get. Have you seen Marie Lloyd?' she asked. ‘No?' as Poppy shook her head. ‘Well, she's saucy, gives them a wink and a bit of how's your father.' She wiggled her eyebrows and flashed her eyes. ‘I've seen her and I can tell you, she has 'em eating out of 'er 'and and she's only young! Now take Vesta Tilley . . .'

Poppy finished her breakfast. She could tell that Mrs Trenton was in a reminiscent mood and she wondered how she could excuse herself.

‘Now she's a star and a really nice lady,' Mrs Trenton went on. ‘And Dan Leno, why, you couldn't wish for a finer feller, and they all have a special somefink.'

‘Mrs Trenton,' Poppy said desperately, ‘I have to go. Mr Damone is expecting me.'

‘Lovely feller.' Mrs Trenton rose from the table. ‘Seems a waste, don't it, 'andsome chap like him? That Ena sets her cap at him.' She shook her head. ‘But she don't stand a chance. Nobody does.'

It was only a ten-minute walk to St Martin's Lane from Mrs Trenton's house and Poppy's hat bobbed bright and yellow in the grey morning as she set off. She had put her rain cape over her jacket and wore a warm scarf round her neck. In her gloved hand she lightly swung her walking umbrella.

Miss Battle was in the front office when she arrived at Dan Damone's, but this time she went into his room to tell him that Miss Mazzini had arrived.

‘Lovely to see you, Poppy.' Dan kissed her cheek. ‘How are you? You've had a successful season! I had a request from Bradshaw asking if you could stay on, but I told him that I had other plans for you. Come and sit down.'

‘Mr Damone,' she began.

‘Dan!' He smiled. ‘You're not a schoolgirl any more, you know, and in this business, privately at any rate, we can be informal.'

‘Dan,' she began again. ‘Am I suited to the music hall?'

He tipped back in his chair and gazed at her and she thought that Mrs Trenton was quite right. He was handsome, with his smiling blue eyes and mutton chop whiskers. ‘Why do you ask that,' he said, ‘when you were moved up the bill at Brighton? Bradshaw would have put you in the penultimate spot if you'd stayed on.'

‘Well, a few people have said to me that a singer in the music hall needs to be a bit saucy and use
double entendre
and that kind of thing.' She took a breath. ‘And I can't. Don't want to.'

‘Of course you can't, and you don't need to,' he reassured her. ‘And not all do. There are lots of straight singers, balladeers and vocalists who don't use sauce and don't use novelties to entertain. Some are good at it, but it wouldn't be right for you. You're not the type.'

‘That's what Mrs Trenton said,' she murmured.

‘Dolly Trenton!' He brought his chair back with a crash and laughed. ‘Dolly London as was! Have you been staying with her?' At Poppy's answer, he laughed again. ‘What an old girl she is! Did she sing for you?'

‘Yes.' Poppy smiled. ‘With her friend Nelly Gorman.'

Dan roared. ‘Wonderful! They were great in their time. They'd dash from one penny gaff to another, halls or clubs, on foot or catch a hansom; they'd go anywhere to earn a crust! They were true music hall.' Then he leaned towards her. ‘But that's not for you, Poppy. Let me tell you what I think you should do. You might not want to and if you don't . . .' He lifted his hands in an apologetic gesture. ‘Well, it's up to you. I can always get you a booking in a hall like Bradshaw's anywhere in the country.'

‘Yes?' she said. ‘But?' She felt nervous. What was it he had in mind for her? ‘You mentioned pantomime.'

He nodded. ‘I did. That's still on.' He hesitated for a second. ‘I can recognize quality when I see or hear it, and so can others who are more, shall we say, musically attuned than I am.' He leaned back again and folded his arms in front of him. ‘I'm not doing myself any favours in suggesting this, because I could make money out of you by letting you sing just as you do. But it has been suggested to me that your voice could be improved if you took further singing lessons with a coach.'

‘Oh!' She swallowed. ‘I see. Who suggested it? Anthony!' she gasped. ‘It was him. Wasn't it?'

‘Yes,' he admitted. ‘It was, though he did ask me not to tell you. He thought you might feel he was interfering. I put great faith in his judgement,' Dan continued. ‘He's young and talented and has a great deal of experience behind him. And he's a friend,' he said. ‘I've known him since he was a boy and I first became his agent, and I know he wouldn't make the suggestion if he didn't believe it would work.'

‘I don't know of a coach,' Poppy said, her mind working furiously. ‘Would it cost a lot of money? Would I be able to sing to pay for the lessons? I don't want my father to have to pay.'

‘It would cost, but you could still work. I can get you bookings in London; not the best places in town, but they would pay your rent and the cost of a tutor.'

‘Do you know of someone?'

He nodded. ‘I do. She's good, used to be a concert hall singer herself until she married and raised a family. She's my sister,' he admitted, and abstractedly flipped his bottom lip with his finger. ‘She has a daughter who used to sing too, but she also married and gave it up.'

‘I wouldn't do that.'

Dan smiled. ‘You might if your husband was rich and influential and didn't want his wife on public display.'

‘Ah!' Poppy thought for a moment. ‘So why does she teach if she's rich?'

He shook his head. ‘I was speaking of my niece. She's the one with a rich husband. My sister married for love and needs the money.' He gazed at her for a moment, then said, ‘Have a think about it. You don't have to tell me now. Talk to your father. He's a sensible man; ask him his opinion. You're young, Poppy. You've a long career in front of you. Make sure you take the right path.'

‘All right.' She gathered up her cape, gloves and umbrella. ‘So what about the pantomime? What is it and when do I start?' She smiled at him. He wasn't very organized. No wonder he needed Miss Battle to help him. He hadn't given her any details of the part she would play, where it was or the date.

He scrabbled on his desk amongst a pile of papers, and then opened the desk drawer and looked in there. Then he shouted, ‘Dora!'

Miss Battle came in holding a sheaf of papers. ‘Is this what you're looking for, Mr Damone? The contract for Miss Mazzini?'

He gave her a rueful grin. ‘What would I do without you, Dora?'

She turned without a word and went out again and Dan raised his eyebrows. ‘She's a treasure,' he murmured.

Poppy laughed. ‘So what is the pantomime and what part do I play?'

‘Ah,' he said. ‘Aladdin . . . and you're to be . . .' He looked over the papers. ‘Ah! Yes, here we are. Fairy Fancy, the Good Spirit of Pantomime. Not a big part but important, for you need to empathize with the audience.' He glanced up at her. ‘And being local they'll no doubt give you topical allusions. And there'll be some good songs. Starts on December twenty-second, so you've ample time for rehearsal.' He shuffled the papers round again and took a page out. ‘So, if you'll sign just here.'

Poppy picked up the pen and hesitated. ‘Local? But where, Dan? You haven't said where I'm to go or which theatre!'

‘Didn't I say?' He seemed astonished at his oversight. ‘Why, it's the Grand Theatre. In Hull!'

‘I can't be doing with you two women arguing!' Joshua had had enough; the problem had to be resolved. To be fair to Nan, she didn't argue; it was Lena who constantly complained about Nan. But it was getting him down today. He didn't feel well. He'd had a pain in his gut all night and had risen this morning feeling hot, sweaty and sick.

‘I'm giving in my notice, Mr Mazzini,' Nan said quietly. ‘I'm never going to please Mrs Rogers, no matter what I do.'

Joshua stared at her. ‘Don't leave, Nan. Whatever will we do? You've been here so long. Why, Mary—'

‘It was different when Mrs Mazzini was alive. I'd never have left her.' Nan turned to look straight at Lena. ‘But Mrs Rogers has been trying to get me to leave ever since she came—'

‘I have
not
,' Lena asserted vehemently. ‘If you'd done your work properly – anyway, leave if you want. I can soon get somebody to replace you.'

Joshua suddenly felt he was going to be sick and covered his mouth with his hand. ‘Just a minute,' he gasped and dashed from the kitchen.

Lena gave a triumphant sneer. ‘Best collect your wages and go now,' she said. ‘No sense in your hanging about.'

‘I'll wait for Mr Mazzini, thank you,' Nan said bluntly. ‘And I don't need you to tell me what to do. I'll finish the work I'm paid to do.'

Joshua came back a few minutes later looking grey and washed out. He sat down at the table. ‘Something's upset me,' he groaned. ‘That pork you cooked last night, Lena. Did it look all right? Wasn't green, was it?'

She bridled. ‘Well, I'm all right. It hasn't affected me.'

‘No, but you ate 'crackling and 'top slice of meat and that was very crisp. Look, Nan,' he began. ‘Sorry.' He put his hand to his forehead. ‘I feel rotten. I don't want you to leave.' He got up from the table again. ‘I'm going to be sick.'

Nan picked up a polishing cloth and went towards the shop door. Lena called after her. ‘Make sure them windows are clean before you go. Don't leave any streaks.'

When Joshua came back, Lena said in a confidential whisper, ‘I'd let her go if I was you, Joshua. She's set on leaving; she's just said so. I wouldn't put it past her to have got another job lined up already.'

Joshua wiped his mouth. ‘Do you think so?' he said weakly. ‘I never thought that Nan—' He took a deep breath. ‘I'd better not go in 'shop this morning. I feel terrible. Are you sure that meat was all right? Did you get it from Brown's 'same as usual? He's always had good meat.'

‘Well, as I say, I feel all right.' Lena evaded the question. ‘Perhaps you'd better go and sit down. Me and Albert will manage. We're not that busy.'

That was true, Joshua thought as he sat by the range in his easy chair. They were not very busy. Trade seemed to have dropped off. Some of the regular customers were not coming in and although he knew that people could be fickle in their shopping habits, even people like Mrs Forbes no longer came in for her husband's screw of tobacco, nor Mrs Brownlow for yesterday's penny loaf, and when he thought of it he hadn't seen the two youngsters lately, the one for the broken biscuits or the other for an ounce of tea. I could worry over those two, he mused. I hope they're all right. Scraps, they were, just skin and bone.

Nan finished her work an hour later and came through into the kitchen. Joshua was still sitting in his chair. ‘Can I get you anything before I go?' She wore an anxious frown. ‘You don't look so good. A drop of brandy and hot water? It's 'finest thing for an upset stomach.'

He shook his head. ‘No, I can't face anything.' He looked up at her. ‘Don't go, Nan,' he said weakly. ‘I'll have nobody left from 'old days.'

She blinked. 'Old days are gone, Mr Mazzini. We've onny got 'present and 'future. If ever Mrs Rogers leaves, I'll come back.' She pressed her lips together. ‘But I can't work with her any longer. She wants me out.'

‘You've never called me Joshua, have you?' he murmured bleakly. ‘Always done things right.'

‘You're my employer,' she said flatly. ‘I've never forgotten that. It doesn't do to become too familiar.'

It was almost a reprimand, he thought. Lena had called him Joshua – even Josh, until he told her not to – right from the start. ‘I need Lena here,' he pleaded. ‘I need somebody who can bake. I thought I was doing 'right thing in taking her, and she knew Mary.'

Nan put her chin up. ‘So she said.' Her voice was without accusation, yet Joshua felt it was there, some hint that Nan didn't believe Lena. Yet why should Lena lie?

‘I onny want wages up to today,' she said. ‘I would have stayed until 'end of 'week, but I think it's best if I go now and we can all have a fresh start.'

‘What will you do, Nan?' He rose from his chair. His legs felt weak and he doubled over as a stabbing pain hit his bowels. He groaned. ‘Ask Albert to give you 'cash box and bring it here, will you? I'll have to go out to 'back again.'

He stumbled to the back door and Nan went into the shop. ‘Mr Mazzini needs 'cash box. He said for me to take it in to him.'

Albert looked at her and then at Lena. ‘Give it to her.' Lena indicated Nan with a toss of her head. ‘If that's what he said.'

Nan took the box without a word and went back to the kitchen. She put the box on the table and sat down and waited for Joshua to return. When he did, a few minutes later, he looked greyer than ever, his mouth was pinched and his eyes were watery. ‘Something's upset me,' he said, going to the sink to wash his hands. ‘Something I ate.'

He opened the cash box at the table. He counted out some coins and then scanned the remaining contents. ‘Mm, not been very busy this morning. There's not much more than the float here.'