Theatre Shoes (16 page)

Mark took most of the day to get his ideas sorted out, but after tea there was a rehearsal of the winter ballet, and he was given two or three steps to learn, including some Pas de Chats, which, in his opinion, were just right for the movements of a bear. Coming home on the Underground he was in the wildest spirits and told Sorrel and Holly all about it.

“He's not one of those slow, heavy bears. He's a very gay, light-footed bear. The best dancer in the Antarctic.”

Sorrel spoke cautiously.

“What's happening about the clothes for the nursery rhymes?”

“Oh, that! I wear the most awful suit, all frills and blue satin, but the boy who's wearing it doesn't feel a fool in it because he knows he's under a spell, and when the witch that made the spell is dead, he'll be a bear again.”

“I see,” said Sorrel. “Well, for goodness' sake don't let the witch break the spell in the middle of the songs.”

Mark was clear about that, too.

“She won't. If she breaks the spell one minute too soon, then that boy will never be a bear again, never, never, never.”

Holly was looking forward to the matinée. She was small and pretty and what the staff called “dressable.” All the clothes came out of the wardrobe, of course, there was nothing new; but she was given three little parts, and for each she had something pretty to wear. She was the buttercup in Mistress Mary's garden. She had a crinoline and bonnet in a singing number, and a flame-coloured tunic in a little dance.

Sorrel was the only one of the family to stay in the background. She still had nothing to do but dance as a black lamb. She tried to pretend she did not mind. She told herself she never had wanted to be an actress anyway, so what did she care; but actually she did mind very much indeed. She had been getting on well in her acting classes, both Madame Moulin and Miss Jay said so, and as soon as she had heard of the matinée she had a secret hope that she would be given a little part in a sketch, not a big or showy part, just something quite small. There were some small parts going. It had been a blow and made her feel discouraged when the parts were handed out and she had nothing. To make things worse, because she had so little to do she was made to take Miranda's parts while Miranda was at her play rehearsals. Miranda, of course, got to hear about this.

“You'll have to stand-in for me again to-day, Sorrel. They need me at the theatre.”

Sorrel tried not to be rude, but it was difficult.

“I'm not standing-in. If it's anything it's understudying.”

“Call it what you like. You ought to be pleased, it's admirable experience for you.”

When a notice was put on the board to say there would be a dress rehearsal at the Princess Theatre on the morning of the day before the matinée, Sorrel was delighted.

“They can't get that awful old matinée over quick enough for me,” she confided to a fellow lamb. “I'm so bored with it, it makes my mouth yawn every time it's mentioned.”

CHAPTER XII

A SWOLLEN HEAD

Alice took the children to their dress rehearsal. Hannah did not exactly refuse to go but she said, looking very stubborn, “she couldn't seem to fancy it.” Alice was glad of the opportunity to get inside any theatre.

“We've gone to our rehearsal,” she said, “and we can manage by ourselves for one morning, and I know my way about behind the scenes, and there's nothing like understanding how things ought to be done, so you can trust old Alice to see the children through.”

Sorrel found as she had when she went to the performance for the seamen, that she felt wormy inside; at least, that was how she described her feelings to herself. When she woke up she felt as if a big worm was turning round and round in her middle. It was not, of course, anything to do with her. She was not really worried about being a lamb; she had danced all right at the seamen's hospital and there had been plenty of rehearsals since. It was a mixture of things. Worrying whether Mark would sing all right, wondering if all Holly's dresses were there, if the girls would turn up in time, and how it would feel to be on a real stage in a real theatre.

The dress rehearsal was supposed to start at half-past ten; but, like most dress rehearsals, it did not start punctually. The stage was hung with curtains of a pale-grey shade, coloured lighting was to be used to give different effects to different scenes. Miss Jay and Winifred had written out what lighting they wanted for the different items; but that did not seem to satisfy the electrician, and for quite a while there was a great deal of “Put in your ambers, Bill,” “Might try a frost on that,” “Would you like it all frost, Miss? You get a colder look that way.” Miranda, in her black overall, and the children who were taking part in the small ballet which followed the prologue, stood on the edge of the stage watching and whispering and trying to keep quiet, but not succeeding very well because they were all rather excited and it is difficult to behave quietly when you feel like that. Miranda was very quiet, but that was because she was very annoyed. She considered herself a star now, and was furious at being kept waiting.

“It's disgraceful, keeping me hanging about like this. If I had known I'd have come much later. My management didn't let me off my rehearsal for this sort of thing.”

The other children got bored with Miranda making such a fuss. One of them said so.

“Why don't you go and tell Miss Jay about it? Tell her that, with a person as important as you in the cast, we've simply got to begin.”

The girl was, of course, trying to be funny. To everybody's surprise, Miranda took her quite seriously. She tossed her head and said, “I think I will,” and marched down to Miss Jay standing by the footlights. The other girls, their eyes round with horror, watched her, holding their breaths for the explosion which was bound to follow. Miranda spoke to Miss Jay quite quietly. Miss Jay, busy talking to the electrician, did not hear what she said.

“Thank you very much,” she called to the electrician. “That's exactly the effect I want.” She turned to Miranda. “What is it, dear? You can see I'm busy.” Miranda lost her temper.

“I was asking if we could begin. It's really ludicrous to bring me here at this hour of the morning to hang about.”

Miss Jay, a very steely glint in her eye, was turning to answer, when a voice came from the dress circle. Nobody had seen Madame arrive, for she had come in quietly and sat down, and there was very little light in the theatre. The group of dancers, quite cold with fright for Miranda, hurriedly curtseyed and said “Madame,” but Madame was not attending to them.

“Miranda, would you please repeat clearly the words you have just used to Miss Jay.”

Miranda had the grace to look a little frightened. She dropped a beautiful curtsey and said “Madame” before she answered.

“I was just asking if we couldn't begin.”

“And why, pray, did you take it upon yourself to dictate to Miss Jay when the curtain should go up?”

“Well, I've got a morning off from my rehearsal to come here and it seems a most awful waste of time. I mean, it isn't as though it was a real performance or anything like that. I mean …”

“I see quite clearly what you mean; but I see no point in your argument. I have here a letter from your management saying that you may have the morning off and that they would not have needed you this morning in any case, as they are not taking your scenes. I'm most distressed, Miranda, that a pupil of mine should behave as you've just behaved. Because you have been engaged for a part in a production, that is no reason for you to behave in a spoilt and vulgar manner.”

Miranda felt the girls behind her were enjoying the row, and that the electricians were looking on, and that Miss Jay was delighted that Madame was telling her off, and she lost her head.

“I do think it's inconsiderate. It's an important part and, naturally, I'm nervous. I think it was a bit too much to expect me to do this matinée as well.”

There was an awful pause. Then Madame's voice, at its coldest, rang across the theatre:

“Miss Jay, Sorrel Forbes knows Miranda's lines, I think.”

Miss Jay was in a quandary. Sorrel did know the lines, but she had only just rattled them through; and in any case, she could hardly hope that Sorrel could be as good as Miranda, but she knew Madame. It was no good saying things like that. Madame would far rather have a part less well played than have one of her pupils get away with bad behaviour such as Miranda had just shown, so she nodded.

“Yes, she knows the lines. There was no thought of her playing, as you know, so I've not rehearsed her in them.”

“Then please send someone to tell Sorrel that she will be taking over Miranda's parts and, as soon as she's changed and you're ready, the rehearsal can begin.”

Miranda was like a pricked balloon. All the arrogance had blown out of her.

“But Madame, I didn't mean it, truthfully I didn't. I'm awfully sorry. I want to take my parts in the matinée.”

“You should have thought of that before,” Madame retorted. “If you will change, I will see that some arrangement is made for sending you home.”

Sorrel was talking to Alice in the passage outside the dressing-rooms.

“The call boy comes along when they're ready to start,” Alice was saying, “and raps on each door and says, ‘Overture and beginners, please.'”

“What does he say when they aren't beginners? I mean, when they are proper actors and actresses?”

Alice was quite shocked at such ignorance.

“It's nothing to do with how long you've been working. It means the overture is going to start and everybody who is concerned in the beginning of the act goes down on the stage. When it's a proper play, like the one your Grandmother is rehearsing now, he calls people by their names. He'll rap and he'll say, ‘Overture and beginners, Miss Shaw, please', and then he comes to the room where Miranda's dressing and then he'll say, ‘Overture and beginners, Miss Brain, please.' When the play's been on a bit of a time I'll take you round one matinée. You won't be allowed to come in our dressing-room, anybody about gets us in a fidget, but I'll see if I can get the stage manager to let you stand down in the prompt corner.”

One of the children had been selected by Miss Jay to find Sorrel. She came tearing up the passage. Her words tumbled out in a jumble.

“Sorrel, there's been the most fearful row. Miranda's sauced Madame, and Madame told her off good and proper, and she isn't to take part in the matinée, and Miss Jay says you're to take all her parts, and will you go to number three dressing-room where the clothes are? If you can't find a black overall for your first entrance, it doesn't matter; you can wear your shoes and socks and your lamb's tunic.”

Alice was the one who grasped all this. An understudy thrown on in a hurry was the breath of life to her. She snorted like a hunter who hears hounds.

“Come on, ducks, here's your chance. Fancy, the very first time too! The numbers of understudies I've known who have waited from one end of the run to the other for something like this to happen. Even got so far as to grease the old apples and pears, hoping for a sprained ankle or something. And here you're going on the very first time!”

Sorrel clutched at Alice, as if Alice was the only piece of wood and she was a drowning mariner.

“Alice, I can't. I don't know it. I mean I've never acted them properly, or anything.”

Alice took her firmly by the arm.

“Nonsense! Come on now, you show young Miranda she's not the only member of the family who's inherited the Warren talent.” She pulled Sorrel into dressing-room number three. “Sit down, ducks, while I comb out your hair and give you a bit of make-up.” She turned to the girl who had come to fetch Sorrel. “Nip along to the room we were in, number nine it is, and get Sorrel's socks and sandals.”

Sorrel thought that morning the most awful she had ever lived through. Miranda, besides compèring the whole show, took part in two little sketches; and, of course, being Miranda, they were both leading parts. Miranda was bigger than Sorrel, and none of the clothes fitted properly. Because she was nervous, Sorrel stammered over some of her words. In the little sketch in which she wore a crinoline, she tripped over her frock. She felt in such a rush and tear; there was never time to be sure what she was doing with anything. Now and again, she cast anxious glances at Miss Jay and she saw that Miss Jay looked harassed, and she did not blame her. Poor Miss Jay! How sickening for her to have the show ruined like this!

At the end of the performance, Miss Jay asked to have the curtain raised. She called the children on to the stage to receive notes from Madame. Madame came down to the front of the stalls. She had a page of notes in her hand. First of all, because it was the subject she liked best, she spoke to the dancers. She had been, she said, exceedingly pleased with the winter ballet. The fairies had kept their line very well, but she would like this afternoon to take them herself, the glissades were not clean cut, and the line was untidy during the pirouettes. Then she turned to Miriam. She spoke in a warm voice, which all the Academy pupils knew meant she was pleased.

“You seemed to be having a very happy time.” She nodded to Mark. “And as for Mark, you were really a most energetic and sprightly bear. A most realistic study, I thought.”

When she had finished with the dancers, Madame turned to the singing numbers.

“I was pleased with the nursery rhymes, but, Holly, I thought you were a very restless buttercup. What was happening to you?”

Holly came down to the footlights.

“I thought there was a little wind blowing through the garden and it was blowing me from side to side, so that all the other flowers could see if the gold of me showed under their chins.” Then she remembered that perhaps Madame was not so well informed as she was. “If you hold a buttercup under your chin, and you can see yellow, it means you like butter.”