The Little Angel

by Rosie Goodwin

  The sudden change of mood completely bewildered Kitty but she smiled back nervously then ran upstairs with Maggie close on her heels.

  ‘Have a nice rest, sweetheart,’ Ruby’s sugary voice floated up behind them and Maggie shivered.

  ‘Crikey, I thought we were in for it then,’ she whispered once they’d gained the safety of Kitty’s room.

  ‘So did I,’ Kitty whispered back. ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever seen her so irate.’ Even so, she was determined that she wouldn’t let it spoil her day. The best bit was still to come and she intended to enjoy every single second of it. Maggie ran her a nice hot bath and after washing her hair until it was squeaky clean Kitty lay back in the sweet-smelling bubbles for a nice soak.

  It wasn’t until shortly before Max was due to collect them that Kitty’s nerves kicked in and suddenly she was a wreck.

  ‘What shall I do if I forget the words?’ she squeaked in a panic. ‘I can’t even remember what songs I’m supposed to sing!’

  ‘You’ll be absolutely fine,’ Maggie told her calmly as she pinned Kitty’s hair up. Just as she finished, they heard the doorbell ring and told her, ‘This is it then. Come along. You won’t want to keep your audience waiting.’

  On legs that felt as if they had turned to jelly, Kitty followed her downstairs. Max and Ruby were waiting for them in the hallway and after taking Kitty’s dress from Maggie, Max bowed theatrically and motioned towards the door.

  ‘Your carriage awaits you, ladies,’ he told them with a cheeky grin and they all trooped out to his car. Ruby sat next to Max in the front while Maggie and Kitty piled into the back.

  ‘I think you’ll enjoy this evening,’ Max told Kitty as he started the car. ‘And you’ll find it’s a very far cry from the Palm Beach Club.’

  Kitty nodded as she twisted her fingers together nervously, but as they approached the theatre her mouth gaped open. Outside the doors was a large poster of her, and queues of people were waiting to go inside.

  ‘We’re going around to the back of the theatre to the stage entrance,’ Max said, as he turned into a dark alley and pulled up outside a set of double wooden doors. ‘Here we are.’ And he leaped from the car and tapped at the doors. They were opened almost immediately by a small harassed-looking gentleman with a huge moustache.

  ‘Ah, Mr Thomas, you’ve brought Miss Nightingale, have you?’ The stage door keeper recognised Max instantly. ‘Follow me, sir, and I’ll show you to her dressing room.’ And then they all stepped inside to what Kitty could only describe as absolute chaos. The corridors were full of people – stagehands, musicians, and the other artistes – hurrying to and fro, and somewhere in the distance she could hear the band tuning up and the murmur of the audience taking their seats while chatting animatedly.

  The man stopped outside a door and Kitty flushed with pleasure as she saw her name on it alongside a big gold star.

  ‘Here you are then, Miss Nightingale, break a leg,’ he said jovially as he set off back to his post.

  Maggie looked horrified. ‘Whatever did he mean? Break a leg!’

  Kitty chuckled. It was her turn to explain: ‘It’s a theatrical term meaning good luck.’

  As they all walked into the dressing room, Kitty gasped with delight. There were flowers everywhere she looked and their perfume hung on the air. A bottle of champagne stood cooling in a silver bucket and boxes of brandied cherries, marrons glacés and other treats were scattered about every available surface.

  ‘It appears that after your last performance you’ve already attracted some admirers,’ Max told her. ‘But now Ruby and I will go and take our seats and leave you to get ready. Just do your best, my little angel, and you’ll be wonderful.’

  But Ruby didn’t appear to have heard him. She was busy reading the cards on the flowers with a peeved expression on her face. It didn’t seem so very long ago that she had warranted this same adoration herself, but those days, it now seemed, were over. Still, she consoled herself, Kitty could earn them a lot of money, and that wasn’t to be sniffed at so she wished her daughter good luck and floated away on Max’s arm.

  Maggie was clearly flabbergasted. This was her first glimpse of the theatrical world and life behind the scenes, and now she understood why Kitty’s head had been slightly turned. Even so, she was there to do a job so she ordered bossily, ‘Come along, you can read all these cards later. Right now, we have to get you ready.’

  After completing Kitty’s stage make-up, Maggie helped Kitty into her fine new gown, careful not to disturb her hair, which Maggie was rather proud of, seeing as it was her first real attempt at hairdressing for a stage appearance. The stage make-up hadn’t been quite so easy to master, however. After her first attempt to make Kitty’s face up, the poor girl had resembled a clown.

  ‘Perhaps if we wipe off some of the rouge and tone down the lip colour, it won’t look so bad,’ Kitty suggested patiently.

  Three attempts later they both agreed it looked much better – and even if it hadn’t time was passing, so it would just have to do.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll get better at it with time,’ Maggie apologised, wringing her hands. ‘Perhaps we should have asked Ruby to stay and show us how to do it properly. That panstick stuff is so thick I reckon it would go on easier with a trowel.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Kitty said. And soon enough, someone tapped at the door and called out: ‘Miss Nightingale, five minutes,’ and she went to stand in the wings of the stage as the compère introduced her.

  ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, what you’ve all been waiting for, the little songbird who has taken London by storm, our own, our very own, Miss Kitty Nightingale!’

  Tonight, Kitty sang three ballads to a packed audience, letting her rich, poignant voice flow above their heads, and at the end of the last one she curtsied to heartfelt applause. The girl felt a thrill of power run through her. She knew that she had the audience in the palm of her hand and it was the best feeling in the world.

  Max and Ruby were waiting for her in the wings and the audience were shouting, ‘Encore! Encore!’ Kitty would have been more than happy to go back onstage and sing another number, but Max caught her arm and shook his head.

  ‘You did very well, Kitty dear, but it’s best to leave them wanting. Come on, I think we ought to go and open that champagne.’

  When they arrived back at her dressing room they found Maggie frantically trying to find room for yet more baskets of flowers that had been delivered.

  ‘It’s like a florist’s shop,’ Kitty giggled as Max jubilantly popped the cork on the champagne.

  ‘To our little nightingale,’ he toasted when all their glasses were full and Kitty sipped at hers and basked in the glory.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘Still in bed, is she?’ Miss Fox asked the next morning as Maggie descended the stairs with the dress Kitty had worn the night before folded over her arm. Miss Fox had taken a real shine to Maggie; she was a down-to-earth kind of girl who would help to keep Kitty’s feet firmly planted on the ground.

  ‘Yes, Miss Fox, I was just taking this to sponge it and press it before hanging it away.’

  ‘Hmm, that’s her and Ruby lying in bed till all hours now,’ Miss Fox grumbled, but she had no time to say more before a knock sounded on the door. It was Max and he was waving a newspaper at them with a grin all over his face.

  ‘She’s done it again,’ he told anyone who cared to listen. ‘There’s a whole half page on how our Kitty stole the show.’

  ‘That’s all well and good, but she’s still very young and we don’t want it going to her head, do we?’ Miss Fox retorted.

  ‘Nonsense. Kitty is a sensible girl and she has me and Ruby to look out for her. Is Ruby up yet?’

  Miss Fox tutted. ‘Silly question. When is she ever out of bed before lunchtime?’

  ‘Then kindly send someone to go and tell her that I need to see her,’ Max said firmly.

  Miss Fox hesitated for a second, but then with a shru
g she asked Mabel to go and do as she was asked and the maid scuttled away. Before too long, Ruby appeared at the top of the stairs, her eyes bleary and her hair all over the place.

  ‘What is it that’s so important, Max, that you should wake me at this ungodly hour,’ she yawned as she came down the stairs.

  He chuckled. ‘Ungodly hour? Why, it’s past eleven o’ clock! Half the day is almost gone already. But come and read this. It’s worth losing a bit of beauty sleep for.’ He secretly thought Ruby could do with all the beauty sleep she could get, seeing her without her paint and powder, but he wisely didn’t comment.

  Once they were in the drawing room he handed her the paper and she scanned the piece about Kitty.

  ‘I’ve already taken four more bookings for her this morning,’ he crowed. ‘And the fees they’re offering are substantial.’

  ‘Yes, well, there’s no need to discuss that side of it with Kitty,’ Ruby told him just as Kitty herself appeared at the door.

  ‘No need to discuss what with me?’ She rubbed at her forehead to try and ease the pain that was throbbing behind her eyes. ‘I think I might have had a bit too much champagne last night.’

  ‘Never mind about that, darling, you were entitled to celebrate your success. Come and read this, it’s a wonderful piece, and Max and I were just saying that although you will be in great demand now, we don’t want you to overdo it and tire yourself out.’

  Her mother was suddenly all dishevelled sweetness and light again and Kitty accepted what she was telling her without question as she took the newspaper from her and quickly read the write-up.

  ‘That’s excellent!’ she exclaimed when she’d done.

  ‘It certainly is,’ Max agreed. ‘And I was just telling your aunt that I’ve already secured you four more bookings all over London.’

  ‘Really?’ Kitty hugged herself with delight. ‘When is the first one?’

  ‘At the beginning of next week, which will give us time to order another new stage costume. You’re going to need quite an extensive wardrobe at this rate. Oh, and Richard is very keen to take some photographs too. I was wondering if you could visit his studio again tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘Of course,’ Kitty willingly agreed. ‘Maggie can come with me.’

  Max intervened with: ‘Actually, I think Richard would prefer you to go alone. He doesn’t like an audience when he’s working and I think you would be more relaxed with no one else there.’

  ‘Very well.’ Kitty was feeling too happy to object although she couldn’t help but grin as she thought of what Sunday’s reaction would have been at the thought of her spending time alone with a gentleman. At Treetops, Sunday had tended to be very protective of her, and now Kitty was beginning to spread her wings and enjoy a whole new way of life. Just the thought of being alone with the handsome photographer made her heart beat faster. After agreeing a time with Max she raced off to share the good news with Maggie, but once again her friend was far less thrilled than Kitty had thought she would be.

  ‘Are you quite sure that all this is what you want?’ she asked, and Kitty tossed her head, suddenly annoyed with her.

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be? Doesn’t every young woman dream of seeing her name in lights and being a star?’ Then remembering what Maggie had been through she instantly felt guilty. Of course she was bound to worry about what every gentlemen’s intentions were! Her voice was soft when she added, ‘This is like a dream come true for me, Maggie. I hope you will try to understand.’

  Maggie nodded, but inside she was extremely concerned. Kitty looked every inch the young lady-about-town in her smart new outfits, but she had had such a sheltered upbringing at Treetops and was surely still very naïve and vulnerable. Still, Maggie consoled herself with a touch of bitterness, at least I’m here now to keep my eye out for her – and I’ve got no illusions, and she then got on with putting Kitty’s clean laundry away.

  ‘Are you all right?’ The words made Sunday start and hastily wiping her eyes on her sleeve she turned to see that Tom had just entered the room.

  ‘Fine!’ She silently berated herself for being so short with him, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She was consumed with jealousy every time she thought of him lying with Ben’s mother, even though she knew she was being unreasonable.

  ‘Are you worrying about Kitty again?’ Tom’s voice was gentle as she began to straighten the fashion magazines on the small table in the middle of the room. When Sunday had read them she always brought them into this room for the other women and the older girls to enjoy. They were one of her very few indulgences.

  ‘I’m naturally concerned that we still haven’t heard from her.’ Her voice was stiff, almost as if she were answering a stranger, and it wasn’t lost on Tom who was almost at the end of his tether. Sometimes it was hard to remember now how happy they had once been. In truth, he was desperately worried about the girl as well. It wasn’t like Kitty to just ignore them for all these weeks, but he had kept his thoughts to himself rather than worry Sunday any more than she already was.

  ‘Your mother has just left with Mr Dewhurst to see Reverend Lockett and arrange a date for the wedding,’ he informed her, hoping to turn the conversation, if it could be termed as that, to happier things.

  ‘About time too – those two were made for each other,’ Sunday replied. Just as we were, she wanted to tell him, but couldn’t.

  ‘They’re talking about sometime in August.’ Tom fiddled with the petals of one of the tall golden chrysanthemums that stood in a large vase in the window. George had grown them in the garden and they were quite stunning. ‘She says that now they’ve finally got around to it, there’s no point in delaying at their age.’

  Sunday merely nodded and realising that she wasn’t going to say any more he turned to the door – but then suddenly turned back again. He felt as if he was walking on eggshells and had had quite enough of it.

  ‘How much longer is this going to go on?’

  Sunday looked at him and noted his cheeks were flushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she lied.

  ‘Oh, but I think you do.’ It was the first time that Tom had addressed their situation this strongly. ‘It’s as if you can’t bear me to be near you. Is that how you feel?’

  Sunday shrugged and something in Tom seemed to shrivel and die as he was forced to accept that their relationship might truly be over. ‘I see.’ His voice was heavy with unshed tears. ‘In that case, it might be better if I were to move into one of the spare bedrooms?’ He prayed that she would argue with him and beg him not to do that but instead she merely shrugged again. Sunday wanted so desperately to try to explain to him how bereft she felt. She had loved Kitty as if she were her own child and now the girl was gone, and the sense of despair she felt at her loss had been heightened by discovering that Tom already had a child with someone else while she herself was barren. But the words stuck in her throat.

  His shoulders visibly sagged but his voice was icy when he told her, ‘Very well. I shall move my things out of our room straight away.’ He left the room without another word.

  Once he had gone, Sunday’s face crumpled and she chewed on her knuckles as tears blinded her. To think that it had come to this, and worse still, to know that it was all her own stupid fault. If only we could have had a child of our very own, things might have been so different, she thought – and the resentment was back that another woman had given Tom what she could not. And why, oh why, had he never told her about the relationship with Cecile Randle?

  It was much later that evening as Sunday was reading the newspaper after finishing her chores and seeing the children safely to bed that an article caught her eye.

  MISS KITTY NIGHTINGALE, LONDON’S NEWEST STAR, TAKES HER AUDIENCE BY STORM!

  Sunday read on and her heart began to beat faster. The article went on to say that Miss Kitty Nightingale, who had recently made her debut at the famous Palm Beach Club, was fast becoming a favourite on the music-hall stage, and altho
ugh there was no photograph, the description they gave fitted Kitty to a T. Miss Fox had said that Kitty’s mother was a well-known music-hall performer – so could it be that this was their very own Kitty, following in her footsteps? It just seemed to be too much of a coincidence. Kitty had always loved singing and had the voice of an angel, so if this Miss Nightingale was her, surely it would make it easier for them to find her? As yet, the girl hadn’t written to them once, but perhaps now it would be worthwhile for Sunday and Tom to go London to track this singing star down. If it was their Kitty, it would be worth the trip. And at least it seemed as if their darling girl was safe and sound, and making quite a name for herself! Suddenly, she could hardly wait to talk to Tom.

  ‘So, what would you like to wear today?’ Maggie asked as she entered Kitty’s bedroom the following morning and placed her breakfast tray down on the table at the side of the bed.

  Kitty blinked as Maggie swished the curtains aside, letting the morning sunshine flood into the room.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked grumpily.

  ‘It’s gone nine o’clock and time you were up and dressed. Now as I asked before – what do you want to wear?’

  Kitty perked up as she remembered that she would be spending the afternoon with Richard. ‘Well, seeing as I shall be modelling clothes today I don’t suppose it really matters what I arrive in. Just choose something you think will be suitable.’

  Maggie crossed to the armoire and began to sort through the outfits hanging there, eventually picking out a smart blouse and skirt. She laid them across the back of a chair then went to pour Kitty a cup of tea.

  ‘I was thinking last night how strange it is that Sunday and Tom haven’t been in touch with you,’ she commented and Kitty nodded in agreement.

  ‘I dare say they’re too busy looking after the rest of the children in their care,’ she answered airily but deep down she still felt hurt. Admittedly she had known that they didn’t want her to leave them, but she had never dreamed that they would ignore her once she had gone. It was like a punishment.