Theatre Shoes

by Noel Streatfeild

  Sorrel gave her shoulder blades another twitch.

  “Mark, just look at my shoulders; am I moving them just a little, so that I’ll make my wings tremble, or am I jerking them up and down?”

  Mark shot his chin into the air.

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  There seemed only one other person after Sorrel who would understand about Wilton House, and that was Hannah. He heard Hannah before he saw her. She was singing while she ironed and her voice came rolling down the stairs.

  “Do no sinful action,

  Speak no angry word;

  We ought to spend our points to-day.”

  Mark leant against the table on which Hannah was ironing.

  “I do wish I could go back to Wilton House. It’s where I ought to be.”

  Hannah felt the iron against her cheek.

  “You never spoke a truer word.”

  “Well, can I?”

  “Now, don’t be silly, Mark dear. You run out and play in the garden; pity to waste this nice sunny evening.”

  “But why can’t I?”

  Hannah shook her head.

  “There’s things beyond yours or my understanding, Mark, and what I say is, what you don’t understand take on trust.”

  Disconsolately, Mark hung over the banisters and slid down. How hateful everybody was! Why could not he go to Wilton House? Surely somebody besides himself must see what a sensible idea it was. The word “sensible” brought somebody to mind. He and Petrova had kept up a short but entirely sensible correspondence and every week or two Petrova sent him entirely sensible presents, things that anybody would want; a proper little model aeroplane made by a mechanic she knew, and a whole set of spanners, and one of the best pocket-knives he had ever seen. Grandmother, he knew, was at the theatre. He slipped into her drawing-room, opened her desk, found a sheet of paper and a pencil and, breathing hard through his nose, because he hated writing, he wrote Petrova a letter.

  Holly and Miriam were sent with Hannah to Sorrel’s dress rehearsal. Mark was asked, too, but nothing would induce him to go.

  “If Sorrel is going to act in that awful Shakespeare she can act by herself; I don’t want to see her.”

  As a matter of fact, neither Hannah nor Holly nor Miriam enjoyed the play very much; in fact, in one place Holly went to sleep. Hannah was so appalled by Sorrel’s clothes and general appearance that she made Holly nudge her each time Sorrel came on so that she could shut her eyes, and that, of course, is not a very good way to enjoy a play.

  Miriam was quite happy until some dancers appeared during the song “Come unto these yellow sands,” then she sat up as if someone had stuck a pin into her.

  “Oh, my goodness! What an arrangement! Have you seen their feet!”

  Before the dance was over she could not bear looking at it any longer, and she swung round in her seat and put her legs through the back so that they were in the row behind, and buried her head in her arms. Fortunately there was no one to see this rudeness or Miriam would have got into trouble, for both her father and mother were very strict about theatre manners.

  When Sorrel came in that evening after the rehearsal, Hannah did not even try to be polite.

  “Shocking! What Mr. Bill would say if he could see you, I don’t know. No more on than some poor savage. I was so upset my stomach hasn’t settled yet.”

  Holly was frank.

  “Well, of course, I think it’s a dull play, but I thought you were most awfully good. You were just like that bit of silver stuff we had in a puzzle, that had to break up into five pieces to make up into buttons for a man’s coat. I wouldn’t have been able to listen to Uncle Francis, only, of course, he was so like Grandmother was on Christmas Day, but the worst thing was that Miranda. I’ll show you.”

  Rose Dean was a good actress in ingénue parts, but she was not well cast for Miranda, and she had been so bullied by Uncle Francis that she was in a state of nervous twitter. Holly, not, of course, using the right words, gave an imitation of her that was so funny that Sorrel forgot for several minutes that to-morrow was the first night. Then Hannah came, still looking very disapproving, and fetched Holly off to bed and Sorrel was left alone, and suddenly it seemed as if something was spinning in her middle. She clasped her inside with both hands and said out loud, although there was no one to listen:

  “Oh, goodness! I do wish to-morrow was over.”

  CHAPTER XX

  PLANS

  Sorrel’s performance of Ariel caused quite a lot of interest. It is difficult for anyone to be a success in a part of Shakespeare’s because there are so many people who love all Shakespeare’s work and have strong ideas how his parts should be played. There were a large number of people to be just angry because Ariel was played by a child, and that, of course, was not Sorrel’s fault, and would have happened just the same had Miranda played the part. There were just a few who wrote about “little Miss Forbes tripping and posturing,” but they were the sort of people who hated the sort of Ariel that Uncle Francis imagined. As well there were a large number who wrote nicely: “Silvery-voiced little Sorrel Forbes.” “Little Miss Forbes spoke Ariel’s lines in a way that is a lesson to far more experienced actors.” “Sorrel Forbes, as Ariel, gave a quicksilver performance, and her childish pipe, together with her weird blue make-up, gave an ethereal effect which was curiously moving.”

  Sorrel herself had thought that once the first night was over, everything would be lovely, that she would have all the fun and excitement of playing Ariel and nothing more to worry about. Acting for Uncle Francis was not a bit like that. Almost every performance every actor did something he did not like, and when the curtain came down he saw the company on the stage and gave them what he called “my little notes.” He had little notes for Sorrel all the time, and generally a great many of them, because, as she played all her scenes with him he could not help hearing and seeing anything he did not like.

  Except for the little notes there was quite a lot about playing Ariel that Sorrel did love. There were moments when she really forgot she was Sorrel and felt that she was Ariel. Particularly she felt this at the end when she ran in and lay quivering at Prospero’s feet when he said she could be free. Uncle Francis had taught her to raise herself up in one ecstatic movement when he said this, and Sorrel had found it easy to do. She knew that everybody ought to like an uncle, but she could not really make herself fond of Uncle Francis, and when she listened to Uncle Francis being Prospero she thought how awful it would be to be under his spell. He did not mean to be what Hannah called “a make-trouble,” but he was the sort of man who could not have anyone around him without thinking of things that they ought to be doing. Ariel, who wanted to fly away, must have felt simply bursting with pleasure on the word “free,” and Sorrel felt bursting with pleasure, and even, through her blue paint, looked as though she did.

  One of the things that Sorrel learnt was about getting fond of a part. She had first discovered this when the serial finished in the Children’s Hour at the B.B.C. She simply hated to think she would not be Nancy any more, it seemed odd to think she would not be; it was like killing somebody almost. Now, though it was nervous work acting with Uncle Francis, she had got to love Ariel and to feel she was Ariel, and it was with dismay that she heard Miranda was to play at the next Wednesday matinée.

  From the moment that Miranda was going to play the Wednesday matinée, in a queer way the position between Miranda and Sorrel changed. Miranda grew gay and excited, Sorrel silent. It was not that Sorrel wanted to be mean; it was only fair that Miranda should play Ariel a few times. But Ariel was her part; she hated somebody else doing it, and she particularly hated somebody else wearing her dress and wig.

  Sorrel had not known what was the proper thing to do when somebody else was playing your part, whether you went to the theatre or not, but Miss Jay settled that.

  “I’ve two seats for us in the dress circle, Sorrel. I’m very anxious you should see Miranda’s performance.”


  Miranda had been quite right when she said that her father would not let her performance pass without having some interesting people in to see her. She had made a success, and she was Uncle Francis’s daughter, and she was a Warren. Though Sorrel had done very nicely as Ariel, she had done nicely because of the very simple, almost childlike way that Uncle Francis wanted the part played. Miranda had done well as Sylvia as an actress, and people had talked about her as the latest sprig off the Warren tree. Sorrel was a sprig, but there was not as much fuss about it.

  Sorrel found it interesting seeing the play from the front of the house. It was fun knowing all the actors, and the comedy scenes were much funnier from the front, and the scene where the goddesses appeared was really beautiful. Miranda looked so like she did as Ariel that it was quite odd. The wig and the blue paint would make any two children look alike, but there was any amount of difference in the way Miranda played the part. Different inflexions on different words, a different way of moving, different everything.

  In the first interval Sorrel was very careful not to say anything to Miss Jay to show she wanted to know how good she thought Miranda was. Then two men in the row behind them began to talk.

  “Francis’s idea of Ariel and mine are worlds apart, anyway, but at least in the wisp of a child who normally plays the part he had what he wanted. This Ariel is a girl, and not only a girl, but a girl with a pronounced personality and bursting with talent. I would stake anything I had that this young woman has an enormous career in front of her in the great parts, in the great way; but if you want to see Francis’s conception of Ariel see the other child.”

  The two men went out then to get some tea. Miss Jay turned to Sorrel.

  “Did you hear what that man said?” Sorrel nodded. “Did you understand it?”

  Sorrel nodded again.

  “I think so, except about Miranda being a girl. We’re both girls.”

  “Miranda’s older than her age and you’re younger than yours; but that part’s not important, it’s what he said about the playing of the part that is. Miranda’s brilliant—and yet, as Ariel you give the better performance, and that you’ll find all the way through your stage career. It’s getting inside the part that matters, and I think you’ve got inside the part as your uncle wanted it, and Miranda hasn’t.”

  “But he said he would bet Miranda would be a great actress.”

  The attendant brought their tea. Miss Jay took the tray and balanced it on her knee.

  “So she will. Great like Edith Evans, perhaps, if she works; but you won’t have that sort of career, and you wouldn’t aim at it.”

  “No,” Sorrel agreed. “What I would like would be to act something like Pauline Fossil. I would most awfully like something like that.”

  Miss Jay poured out Sorrel’s tea and passed her the cup.

  “Well, we must see if we can manage it, and perhaps in a few years’ time somebody else of twelve will say to me, ‘What I would like is to be able to act like Sorrel Forbes.’ Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  Mark had put on the envelope to Petrova, “Strictly Private and Conferdenshul.” When Petrova’s letter came to him she had written the same thing on her envelope, only she had spelt confidential right. Like all Petrova’s letters, it was to the point.

  DEAR MARK,

  Of course you must go to Wilton House. I have written to Madame and she says that what you want to be is a sailor, like your father, but she thinks that it is difficult to arrange because at the moment your grandmother’s looking after you and she wants you to go on the stage. She has suggested that Pauline has a talk about it with your Uncle Henry, and I have cabled Pauline and asked her to do this. Madame says that your Uncle Henry is the right person because your grandmother does anything he says.

  Gum says he would like to adopt you until your father comes home. We will see about this when we hear from your Uncle Henry.

  Yours,

  PETROVA.

  P.S.—I am sending you a screwdriver. It’s always useful to have a good one.

  Holly and Miriam were great friends, and almost every week Aunt Lindsey would come round on Saturday and fetch Holly to spend the afternoon. One day, at the end of July, she called for Holly to spend not only Saturday but the whole week-end. To Holly, spending the week-end with Miriam was all fun. It was anything but fun to Hannah.

  “And your pyjamas that threadbare I’m ashamed to pack them. And no bedroom slippers, and only your house shoes to wear. But there, humility’s good for us, they say; but my cheeks won’t stop flaming the whole week-end, every time I think of your aunt’s face when she opens your attaché case.”

  It was a lovely week-end. Aunt Lindsey took them to the Zoo and to tea in a shop; but the best thing of all was that on the Saturday night Uncle Mose came home. Uncle Mose had been doing a two months’ tour of the Middle East, and he was not expected back for another week; but somehow he wangled his way on to an aeroplane instead of a boat; and there he was with a little red fez on the side of his head, sticking his face round the door and grinning at Miriam and Holly and rubbing his hands and saying, “Vell, vell, vell!” He brought back some presents; nothing big, as they had to go in his pockets, but the most exciting were two bananas. Miriam could hardly remember what a banana looked like, and Holly only just. They decided to eat the bananas, but to save the skins to take to the Academy to show off. They ate the bananas on Sunday; and afterwards Holly, carried away by the excitement of having a banana, gave an imitation of how all the staff at the Academy would react to seeing a banana. Holly’s imitations were becoming quite a feature of the Academy. Of course, the staff were not supposed to know about them, because she was nearly always being funny about the staff. The students loved them, and whenever there was a dull moment someone was sure to say, “Holly, do Dr. Lente teaching a class to sing”; or “Holly, do Madame making a speech”; or “Holly, do Miss Sykes trying to give a literature lesson and pretending she hasn’t got hiccups.”

  Aunt Lindsey and Miriam laughed a great deal at Holly’s imitations of the reception of the banana skins; but though Uncle Mose laughed, he had a look on his face as though he was being serious as well. When Holly had finished he said:

  “Let’s see some more of your imitations, young woman. What else do you do?”

  Miriam was exceedingly proud of Holly and bounced with excitement.

  “Do Dr. Lente at music; that’s much the funniest.”

  Holly did Dr. Lente and then Madame, and then Miss Sykes; and, finally, she wound up with Uncle Francis being Prospero. This last took all the thoughtfulness out of Uncle Mose’s face and made him roar. When he had stopped laughing, he beckoned Holly to him and put her between his knees.

  “So you’re going to be a comedienne, are you?”

  Aunt Lindsey had laughed so much, the stuff on her eyelashes had run down her cheeks. She mopped her face.

  “Addie was a mimic, you know, Mose. We always said she ought to have gone in for it.”

  Uncle Mose gave Holly a kiss.

  “I take a great interest in your career, young lady. We always wanted a comedienne in the family, didn’t we, Miriam?”

  Miriam took a deep breath and dashed forward and pushed Holly aside and sat on her father’s knee.

  “I’ve thought of something. Let Holly be a comedienne instead of me. I mean, I never was going to be a comedienne; but let’s stop making me train all round to see which way I shape. Let me do nothing but dance. Please, Dad, please.”

  Uncle Mose raised his eyebrows in a question mark over Miriam’s head and looked at Aunt Lindsey, and Aunt Lindsey gave him a funny sort of smile.

  “I never did think it was going to be any other way, Mose; but it’s funny we should have a dancer.”

  Uncle Mose was a man who came to decisions and stuck to them. He put Miriam off his knee and got up and stretched himself.

  “Well, I’m going for a walk. Who’s coming with me?”

  Miriam flung herself at him again.

&n
bsp; “But you can’t just leave it like that; you must see Madame about me.”

  Uncle Mose gave her hair an affectionate pull.

  “And who said I wasn’t going to? As a matter of fact, I’m going to see Madame to-morrow, but not only about your future, young woman, but about the future of my niece, Holly.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE END OF THE STORY

  Uncle Henry cabled to Grandmother and told her that he wished Mark to be sent to a boarding school, preferably the one in which his father had placed him, and that he would be responsible for the school fees. Grandmother sent for Mark the moment she received it.

  “Read this, grandson.” Mark read the cable and beamed at her. “And why is it necessary for you to go to your Uncle Henry when you want something, instead of coming to me?”

  Mark was quite unmoved by her tone.

  “As a matter of fact, if you want to know, I didn’t. I wrote to Petrova and she cabled to Pauline, and Pauline talked to Uncle Henry.”

  “Of course, it’s absolute nonsense,” said Grandmother, “your Uncle saying that he will pay the school fees; he’s never paid for anything in his life.”

  Mark looked proud.

  “I’ve arranged for that too. I have been adopted by somebody called Gum.”

  Grandmother snorted.

  “I’ve never heard of such behaviour. Here I take you into my beautiful home and bring you up in the lap of luxury and have you educated at the very best stage school the world can provide, and this is how you repay me.”

  Grandmother was lying on her chaise-longue and Mark was standing beside it. Now he made room for himself to sit.

  “I think this room is very nice, but I don’t myself care for the rest of the house. I never have. If Sorrel hadn’t lent me the fourteen bears out of her bedroom, my bedroom wouldn’t seem like home at all. I don’t exactly know what the lap of luxury is; but if that’s what we’ve got, I still would rather be at Wilton House. And though I think the Academy is all right for girls, it isn’t all right for boys at all. I haven’t played cricket once this term. I’m made to dance in white socks, and I simply hate it.”