The Songbird

by Val Wood

  ‘He’s a perfect gentleman. No, really!’ she insisted, when Mattie hooted derisively. ‘We did go out to supper and he also took me to see the Royal Pavilion at Brighton, but I didn’t know until later that my agent had asked him to keep an eye on me.’ She sighed pensively. ‘I don’t know when I’ll see him again. He’s touring the south coast now.’

  ‘And – erm, Charlie?’ Mattie threw in the question casually. ‘Have you seen him again? Apart from when he met you in London, I mean?’

  ‘Just once,’ Poppy murmured. ‘I thought he might have come to see me again, but he didn’t,’ she said miserably. ‘Though I can excuse him, I suppose. He’s about to start in his own business and is bound to be busy.’

  ‘You’re fond of him, aren’t you?’ Mattie asked, and when Poppy nodded, she said, ‘Well, be careful you don’t get hurt. He’s – well, he’s older and more experienced than you,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Everybody’s older than me, Mattie.’

  ‘So what is it that you’re worried about?’ Mattie scraped up the crumbs from the plate with her fingers and popped them into her mouth. ‘If it’s not some feller.’ She winked.

  Poppy sighed. Mattie was so cheerful and positive in spite of her hard life. She was just like her mother. ‘I’m worried because—’ she began. Then she corrected herself. ‘That’s not right. I’m not worried. Worry is when you’ve no job and no money coming in, and you don’t know where the next meal is coming from, isn’t it?’ Mattie nodded in agreement and Poppy went on. ‘I’m confused and I’m anxious and I don’t know what to do for the best.’

  She told her about Lena and the row she had had with Mrs Thomas over the bread, and then about meeting Mrs Thomas and being advised that she should stay at home and help her father.

  ‘Perhaps I should stay at home,’ she said. ‘I hate to think of Pa being in that woman’s clutches; and if customers are staying away, then it won’t be long before the business is finished!’

  ‘Your pa won’t let that happen,’ Mattie assured her. ‘He’s been in business too long to let some harridan like that spoil it for him.’

  ‘You don’t understand!’ Poppy said fretfully and felt tears fill her eyes. ‘Pa’s got so low. He’s not really over the loss of my mother, and then Tommy and I have let him down by going away and leaving him!’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Mattie said huskily. ‘I like your father – he’s just ’sort of da I’d have liked. But if you stay at home he’ll feel guilty for stopping you from doing what you want to do. And would it help?’ she asked. ‘Wouldn’t you still want somebody who can bake and serve in ’shop?’

  ‘Yes,’ Poppy agreed. ‘But I could choose who came, and she wouldn’t have to live in.’

  ‘Is that what you’re bothered about?’ Mattie came swiftly to the point. ‘You don’t like Lena living in ’same house as your da?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Poppy said petulantly. ‘I don’t like it at all. It’s as if she’s trying to take over.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Mattie hesitated. ‘If it was me – if I was in your shoes—’

  ‘Yes?’ Poppy knew what Mattie would do in her situation. She would give up her singing and help her mother or her father if she had one. Mattie was totally unselfish. Unlike me, she thought mournfully. I want to sing and if I can’t, then I’ll be miserable for ever.

  ‘I think you should talk to your father. Tell him how bothered you are about him and tell him that you’ll give up ’stage if needs be. He’s got a couple of weeks to think about it until you’ve finished at ’Grand, hasn’t he? It might be just ’boost he needs to consider a way of getting rid of Lena and Albert and taking somebody else on instead.’

  ‘Yes,’ Poppy said. ‘You’re right. It’s no use my mulling it over on my own. I’ve got to bring it out in the open. Take the bull by the horns, as they say.’

  Mattie grunted. ‘Cows don’t have horns,’ she said. ‘But you could get hold of Lena by the nose!’

  Poppy laughed unhappily. It wouldn’t be easy getting Lena out. Her father was such a kind man. He wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. But there surely must be a way?

  Poppy paid and they prepared to leave. ‘Which Mrs Thomas was it, by the way?’ Mattie asked. ‘The one who had ’row with Lena?’

  ‘She and Mr Thomas used to come in for coffee on a Saturday night after they’d been to the Mechanics,’ Poppy said. ‘You know, he used to be a barber in Posterngate until he got rheumatism in his hands.’

  Mattie nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know who you mean.’ She flashed a smile at Poppy as they stood outside. A sharp wind was blowing in off the estuary, gusting up the dock and churning up the water, rattling rigging and dragging on anchors, and swirling rubbish round their feet. She huddled into her shawls. ‘Don’t you worry, Poppy. Talk to your pa. We’ll think on some way of getting rid of Lena.’

  Nan was thrilled to have been asked to the theatre, and on the Saturday afternoon she brushed down her shabby coat and unearthed the hat that she had worn when Joshua had made up a party at his expense to hear Poppy sing at the Mechanics. ‘How that girl has come on since then,’ she said to Mattie. ‘She’s done so well! I’m really pleased for her.’

  ‘So am I.’ Mattie brushed her unruly hair and looked at herself in the tin plate on the wall that served as a mirror. My freckles have gone, she thought. Wish I was better-looking. She sucked in her cheeks. If only I had good bone structure like Poppy, instead of a round face. She’s a real looker. She sighed. Not that it would make a deal of difference to my life. ‘I’m ready, Ma,’ she said. ‘Can’t do any better with what I’ve got.’

  ‘You’re lovely.’ Her mother smiled. ‘Anybody would be glad to be like you.’

  ‘Come on!’ Mattie picked up her coat. It was one that had been her mother’s and before that had belonged to Mrs Mazzini, who had given it to Nan years ago. ‘Compliments would buy you a glass of ale if I had any brass.’

  Nan locked the door behind them and put the key in her pocket. ‘We’ve not got much,’ she murmured. ‘But mebbe more than some, and I’d like to think it’s still here when we get back.’

  ‘Nobody would break into our place, Ma,’ Mattie said. ‘They’d have to be desperate.’ She took hold of Nan’s arm and they walked off through driving rain to meet Poppy outside the Grand Theatre and Opera House. They cut across Bridge Street, skirted round the eastern end of Queen’s Dock, dodging the bustle of seamen which told them of the arrival of another ship, and walked down Charlotte Street towards George Street where the Grand was situated.

  ‘Ma!’ Mattie said as they hurried along, heads bent against the rain. ‘Do you know Mrs Thomas? The woman whose husband used to be a barber?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nan said. ‘Course I do. Known her for years. Why?’

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘They still live above ’shop. He sub-let the barber’s when he couldn’t handle a blade any more. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘There’s Poppy waiting for us,’ Mattie interrupted. ‘Yoo-hoo, Poppy!’

  ‘Hush!’ Nan said, conscious of the better-dressed people waiting to go in. ‘This isn’t music hall, Mattie. This is opera!’

  Mattie turned to her mother. ‘You mean I can’t sing along?’ she said in mock amazement.

  ‘Certainly not,’ Nan reprimanded her. ‘So please. A little decorum!’

  ‘Decorum isn’t me, you know that, Ma!’ Then she grinned. ‘Only fooling! I’ll be as good as gold.’

  But she could have sung along, she decided, as she sat glued to her seat, if only she had known the words. Lecoque’s Pepita was bright and amusing, the costumes and sets were charming, and the singing was delightful, or so it seemed to her. Mattie turned to Poppy in the interval and saw that her eyes were sparkling.

  ‘Do you know what, Poppy?’

  ‘No. What?’ Poppy seemed to have lost her anxiety and found her high spirits again.

  ‘I think you could do this. Sing in light ope
ra. You can certainly sing as well as . . .’ She consulted the programme. ‘Pepita – Miss Anne Rees. Couldn’t she, Ma? Can’t you see it? Miss Poppy Mazzini taking the lead!’

  ‘Well, we’ll see.’ Poppy looked suddenly downcast. She took a deep breath. ‘After Aladdin is over. Then I’ll make a decision.’

  As they walked home after the performance, Mattie said to Nan. ‘We’ve got to do something, Ma, to keep Poppy on ’stage. It’s such a waste of talent otherwise.’

  Nan nodded, but said, ‘It’s out of our hands, Mattie. We’re not involved any more. What can we do?’

  They both shrunk down into their coats. The sky was as black as if it was night. Rain was still pelting down, sharp as sleet, and they didn’t have umbrellas. ‘Got to do something,’ Mattie gasped. ‘I’m going to find out about that Lena woman. Discover where she’s come from.’

  ‘It won’t help,’ Nan replied. ‘Joshua will be in a worse state than before if she leaves. Poppy will have to stay at home then.’

  ‘No, she won’t,’ Mattie argued. ‘We’ll go and work for him. For nowt, if necessary.’ They turned into their dark court. It was awash with water. ‘Damn and blast this place,’ Mattie said, splashing towards their door, and her mother hushed her, telling her to be thankful they had a place to go to and a roof over their heads.

  ‘Give us ’key, Ma,’ Mattie said. ‘I’m frozen! Though there’s no point in making a fire when we’ve to go out again in a couple of hours. Mother of God!’ She sprang back, away from the huddled shape on the doorstep. ‘Who on earth—’

  ‘We’ve got nothing!’ Nan’s voice broke as she saw the figure rise up above them. ‘We’re as poor as you are.’

  ‘Nan! Mattie!’ A man’s voice, young and trembling. ‘Don’t be scared. It’s me. Tommy!’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Poppy turned up for rehearsals on the Monday morning as arranged, but few of the cast were assembled. Some were still travelling from their last engagement. ‘You’re local, I hear?’ Fred Vine asked. He was the producer and stage manager for the company.

  ‘Yes, I was born in Hull,’ she said. ‘Just across from here, in Savile Street.’

  ‘But you’re a professional singer?’ He frowned. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know of you. I’m only going by what Dan Damone said about you.’

  ‘You won’t have heard of me – yet,’ she added, and was gratified to see him smile. ‘I’ve been working in Brighton – at Bradshaw’s.’

  ‘Music hall! This is different.’ Again he frowned. ‘What did Damone tell you?’

  ‘I know it’s different from music hall,’ she said. ‘I’ve been going to the theatre and music hall and pantomime all my life. I know that I need to sing well and to dance and I can do both.’ She looked earnestly at him and wondered why Fred Vine had agreed to take her on. Was it because the show was opening in Hull? Surely Dan had told him she was new to the business? ‘Dan wants me to try all aspects of the theatre before making a final choice of career.’

  ‘What part did he tell you I might give you?’

  ‘The Good Spirit of Pantomime.’ She was feeling nervous under his scrutiny.

  ‘A red-haired Spirit!’ he murmured, almost to himself. ‘Well, why not? A flame to keep the Spirit alive.’ He looked closely at her. ‘Mm. Sparkling glitter in your hair as if it’s on fire. Could work. Just one snag.’ He worried through his beard with his fingers. ‘Miss Gosse usually plays that part. You’ll know her, probably? Miss Ellen Gosse? Her agent wrote weeks ago to say she couldn’t play, which is why I cast round for someone else. But now I’ve had a letter from him to say that she’s available after all.’

  ‘But – I’ve signed the contract.’ Poppy was dismayed. ‘Surely she won’t expect to come now?’

  He had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘It’s not her fault,’ he said. ‘She’s very reliable and she knows the part backwards. It’s her agent who’s at fault and so am I, if I’m honest. I suppose I panicked when I heard she couldn’t come. Tell you what – and I’m really sorry about this, Miss Mazzini – would you learn the script and the songs? I’ll know by the middle of the week what’s happening and if she does turn up I’ll create another role specially for you.’ He nodded. ‘You’ll be a good draw if people in the town know there’s someone local playing a part.’ He peered anxiously at her. ‘What do you think?’

  I’m too inexperienced to know what I should do, she thought. And if I write to Dan to ask him, by the time I receive a reply it will be too late. ‘I’ve given up another engagement to come here,’ she hedged. ‘I could have stayed on at Brighton. All right. I’ll do it on condition that if I don’t play the Spirit, then I’ll play some other character, as you say, and you don’t put me in the chorus.’ There, she thought. I’ve asserted myself. Let’s see what he says to that.

  He heaved a sigh. ‘Wonderful!’ He smiled. ‘You are most obliging, Miss Mazzini. So very accommodating! You wouldn’t believe the trouble I have sometimes with a temperamental cast.’

  She smiled sweetly and said, ‘You caught me in a good frame of mind, Mr Vine.’ She didn’t want him to think he could manipulate her. ‘A contract is binding, after all. And I’ll write to my agent and tell him to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  He nodded. ‘Quite right,’ he said. ‘I do apologize. It’s just that Miss Gosse has played the part so often and I might want her to play it again, whilst you . . .’ He looked at her and there was a twinkle in his eyes. ‘You will no doubt be spreading your wings elsewhere?’

  ‘Perhaps I will,’ she said. ‘But you haven’t heard me sing yet, Mr Vine, so how do you know?’ She was being bold, she knew, but felt she had to appear self-assured.

  He gave her a little bow and stretched out his hand towards the stage. ‘Then let’s begin.’

  She ran through a repertoire of popular songs from the music hall and then lyrical pieces, waltzes, sweet melodies and songs of love. She could sing without accompaniment, but there was a pianist down in the orchestra pit who played quietly in the background, picking up the harmony as she sang.

  ‘Well done,’ Fred Vine said as she finished. ‘Lovely!’ He gazed at her for a moment and then said, ‘You are young for this kind of role, Miss Mazzini.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘But you have a voice beyond your years. Nurture it, and it will serve you well.’ He smiled. ‘You’ll go far.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and gave a deep breath of contentment.

  ‘I could quite hope that Miss Gosse won’t turn up,’ he murmured. ‘But even if she does I will create a role for you. We can’t let that voice go to waste.’

  When she wasn’t at rehearsal or studying the role of the Good Spirit, she spent as much time as she could helping out in the shop. But trade was slack. She saw few of her father’s regular customers, and this bothered her. She harboured the suspicion that Lena and Albert’s attitude had driven them away, for they both had an indifferent disposition towards the people who came in. They sullenly served coffee and biscuits to those who wanted refreshments, and stood around as if waiting for them to leave so that they could clear away.

  Poppy’s father came back into the shop midweek and found that Albert had rearranged the grocery shelves, which were in any case much emptier than usual. ‘Where are ’tinned peas and haricot beans?’ Joshua asked one morning whilst Poppy was out. ‘And ’jars of barley sugar? And where’ve you put ’Pontefract Cakes and liquorice sticks? Everything’s been moved!’

  ‘I shifted ’confectionery so that the bairns didn’t put their sticky fingers in it. Too much temptation,’ Albert said glumly. ‘That’s what Lena said, anyway.’

  ‘Candy and confectionery needs to be at ’front so that they can see it,’ Joshua said. ‘We want them to be tempted, otherwise they don’t buy. And them tinned peas should be on ’bottom shelf so we can get at them easier. They’re a regular seller in winter, same as dried peas.’ He looked round. ‘Are we out? Do we need another sack?’

  Lena appeare
d at the door. ‘I’ve to take another order to ’supplier. I’ve been busy whilst you’ve been sick,’ she said accusingly. ‘I’ve not had time and Albert couldn’t go, seeing as he’s been minding the shop.’

  ‘But why hasn’t Turner been to take our order? He comes regular every week.’

  Lena’s eyes shifted. ‘He didn’t have what we wanted when he came last time, so I told him not to bother coming back again. I’ve found another supplier.’

  Joshua put a hand to his forehead. Things seemed to going terribly wrong. ‘Who?’ he asked. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Cassell,’ she muttered reluctantly.

  ‘But he’s bankrupt!’ Joshua exploded. ‘And he was accused of selling stolen goods.’

  ‘Wasn’t proved!’ She glared at Joshua and then Albert as if they shared a common conspiracy. ‘Anyway, he’s started up again in his wife’s name, not his own. I’ve had some good deals from him. Better than you’ll get from Turner any day.’

  ‘No!’ Joshua made a stand. ‘I won’t deal with him.’

  ‘I’ve put in an order,’ she stated flatly.

  ‘You just said that you hadn’t had time to go!’ What was going on? Joshua felt ill again when he’d thought he was better. He hadn’t been eating much; he couldn’t face the greasy mince and heavy puddings that Lena was serving up and so had refused the meals, saying he wasn’t hungry. He knew his strength was being sapped, not just by lack of food, but also by her aggressive behaviour. She’s going to ruin me, he thought, just as Tommy and Poppy had said she would.

  ‘Not for extras, I haven’t,’ she explained in a wheedling manner. ‘I’ve given him a regular order for cheese and butter and flour and all ’things we need every day. He’s given us a discount,’ she added. ‘A good one!’

  For rancid butter and mouldy cheese, I’ll be bound, Joshua thought, but he merely said. ‘I’ll go round and see him. No! I’ll go,’ he persisted, as Lena started to protest that she would attend to it. ‘If we stop with him I have to find out his terms.’ I’ll cancel the order, he thought, and call and ask Turner what it was he was out of, that made Lena tell him not to come any more. It’s time I took charge again.