Dancing Shoes

by Noel Streatfeild

  Each evening Mrs. Storm’s husband persuaded her to stay on, for he was certain she would die of exhaustion if she shopped in her lunch hour. But he could see he would not be able to persuade her forever, for Dulcie was getting Mrs. Storm down.

  That day had decided Mrs. Storm. Tomorrow, when Mrs. Wintle was back, she would give notice that she would not teach Dulcie anymore. “And,” she thought, “I’ll tell her exactly what I think about her spoiled, conceited, bad-mannered child.”

  Pat, who in Mrs. Wintle’s absence had taken Dulcie’s dancing lessons, also felt like giving notice. She took her woes to the wardrobe.

  Pursey looked up as Pat came in. “Hullo, dear,” she said, in her warm cozy voice. “You look tired. Come and sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

  Pat sank into a chair. “It’s Dulcie. I had her for an hour alone this morning, and I’ve just had her again in my tap class. Do you know, Pursey, I think that child will drive me into teaching in another school.”

  Pursey filled the kettle. “Nonsense, dear. Don’t let yourself get upset by a little girl of ten.”

  “But what a little girl!” said Pat. “You don’t have to teach her.”

  Pursey put out the teapot and two cups and saucers. “If I did I wouldn’t let her upset me. I’ve had plenty of naughty children to deal with in my nurseries, but I was never put out, and they soon got into my ways.”

  “But Dulcie isn’t naughty,” Pat exclaimed. “If it was naughtiness I wouldn’t mind. It’s what I think in the army is called ‘dumb insolence.’ When I was teaching her this morning I had to show her a new sequence of steps. She watched me with a sort of smile, as if to say ‘Poor thing, she thinks that’s dancing.’ Then this afternoon at the tap class she deliberately misheard everything I said, and then when I had to stop the class and start all over again she said: ‘Oh, is that what you wanted?’ with all the emphasis on ‘that,’ as if I had given the wrong instructions the first time.”

  Pursey put the cups and saucers on the table and brought out her favorite comforting expression. “Don’t fret, it’ll all blow over.”

  Of course Dulcie knew she had been tiresome all day, and mostly she was pleased about it. But as she waited for her mother to come home there was a kind of pricking worry at the back of her mind that she might have gone too far. Mrs. Storm had left after lessons looking terribly cross. It would be awkward if she would not teach her anymore. Mum was hardly every angry with her, but she might be cross about that, for she hated changing staff.

  Dulcie had just reached this thought when she heard a taxi stop. She ran to the window and watched not only her mother get out of the taxi but also two little girls. And these little girls had brought their luggage, which dancing pupils never did. With a cold feeling in her inside Dulcie watched the luggage being piled on the doorstep. Two girls could not be coming to live in the house? They simply couldn’t. She was the only child who was allowed to live in the house.

  A minute later Dulcie heard her mother calling. “Dulcie. Dulcie. Come down, darling.”

  Rachel and Hilary were so tired that they were almost asleep standing up. Since it had been decided they were going to London they had sorted out their clothes and possessions for Mrs. Arthur to pack. Up and down the stairs they had gone, carrying armfuls of books and toys. They had laid all their clothes on their beds and tried to think which they would need and which they would not. They had rolled things in paper and put shoes in bags. By the time they got on the train they were glad to sit down, and even Hilary was for once silent, because she was too tired to talk.

  Being so busy was a help to Rachel, for there is nothing like having a lot to do when you are unhappy. The beginning of the packing she had done only to please Mrs. Arthur. She was sure it was a waste of time, for when the solicitor heard what Aunt Cora was planning he would not let it happen, or, if he would, the doctor would not. Then the telephone had rung, and the call had been for her. It was the doctor on the line.

  “I’ve just heard the splendid news. I’m so glad, Rachel, that you and Hilary are not to be parted after all. And imagine your aunt teaching dancing…what wonderful luck!”

  Rachel had tried to make him understand. “It’s the wrong kind of dancing.”

  But it had been hopeless. To the doctor dancing classes were dancing classes. He could not understand what she was talking about. “Stop worrying about Hilary’s dancing lessons and think of yourself. It’s going to be tough for you, but keep that chin up, and as soon as you can, write to me. I shall hope to hear you are getting used to your new home.”

  “But…,” Rachel interrupted.

  The doctor had not heard her, for he went on: “Here is something I want you to remember. When a dreadful thing happens to a person, as it has happened to you, there are two ways to take it. You can let it make you cross and bitter, or you can accept it and, because you know what it’s like to be hurt very badly, let it make you a nicer person. Do you understand?”

  Rachel was so miserable that a lump in her throat got in the way of her answering. With great difficulty she managed a whispered “Yes.”

  The doctor heard her and guessed about the lump. “I wish I could see you to say good-by. But it’s my hospital day, and I can’t get away. Do try and remember what I have said. Don’t let being unhappy spoil the nice Rachel I am fond of.”

  After that, Rachel collected things to pack in a very whole-hearted way. There was nothing more she could do; she and Hilary were going to London. In London Hilary must learn proper dancing. She could not imagine how she would manage it, but she was sure there must be a way. In the meantime every single thing that her mother had given her must be packed. If anything was left behind somebody might think she did not want it and throw it away. People like Mrs. Arthur wouldn’t know that last year’s Christmas card was terribly important because it had “Love from Mummie” written on it.

  Neither Rachel nor Hilary was enough awake to notice how long the drive was across London in the taxi, nor what sort of house they had arrived at. In the hall a man, who they both supposed must be Uncle Tom, kissed them and said he was very pleased they had come to live with him. Then Aunt Cora said: “Dulcie. Come here, darling. This is your cousin Rachel, and this is Hilary. They are going to live with us.”

  Rachel and Hilary looked at Dulcie in a sleepy way and noticed how pretty she was. Then they were jolted wide awake, for Dulcie, standing on the bottom step of the stairs, shouted in the rudest voice: “I don’t want any cousins to live with me. Send them away.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Breakfast

  Rachel was the first to wake up the next morning. For a second she was puzzled as to where she was. Then, as she looked round the room, it came back to her. This was Uncle Tom and Aunt Cora’s spare bedroom. She was just getting out of bed to see what was outside the window when Hilary woke. She crinkled her nose, sat up, and looked round her.

  “Goodness,” she said, “your uncle and aunt must be awfully rich. Everything matches.”

  The room the girls were now in was furnished with what is called “a bedroom suite.” The two beds, the wardrobe, the dressing table, the little table between the two beds, and a large round looking glass on a stand were made of mahogany. The carpet, the curtains, the eiderdowns, and the lampshades were all the same shade of green. The walls were painted a paler green.

  “Just like a bedroom in a shop window,” said Rachel, awed by so much grandeur.

  Hilary skipped out of bed and, without putting on her dressing gown or slippers, went to the window. She pulled back the curtain and looked out. “The street isn’t grand, there are no gardens, and there are squashed-together shops.”

  Rachel got out of bed and joined Hilary. It was not a nice morning, for it was gray with rain about, but even when it was fine nobody could call Ford Road attractive.

  Hilary’s eye was caugh
t by a bus in the distance. Its red paint made a gay splash of color through the morning grayness. “Buses go by. I shall like that.”

  The door opened and Pursey came in carrying a tray of breakfast. “Look at you two! No shoes on, and no dressing gowns. You’ll catch your deaths. Back to bed now, and I’ll turn on the heating. I turned it off last night. I don’t hold with sleeping with central heating.” She put the tray down on the dressing table. “I never allowed it in my nurseries. Give me a good coal fire. Put on your dressing gowns, it’s nippy this morning.”

  Hilary, struggling into her dressing gown, looked approvingly at Pursey’s back view. “Was it you who helped us undress last night?”

  Pursey laughed. “Helped is good. Dropping, you both were. You wouldn’t be in your pajamas if I hadn’t put them on you. Now, into bed with you both.” She came between the beds and spread table napkins over their knees. Then she went back to the dressing table and fetched two plates of cereal. “Eat that up. If I had my way it would be porridge, but Mrs. Wintle doesn’t hold with porridge. She says it puts on weight.”

  Rachel was surprised. “I thought that was a good thing to do.”

  Pursey was turning on the central heating. She straightened up and gave Rachel a quiet taking-in sort of look.

  “So it is, my lamb, for anyone as skinny as you.” She came back to the beds. “You must be wondering who I am. My name is Miss Purser, but everyone calls me Pursey.”

  Hilary looked at Pursey’s rounded shape, and her eyes laughed. “Do you teach dancing?”

  Pursey chuckled. “That would be something to see, that would. No, I’m Mrs. Wintle’s partner in the business, but I only have to do with the clothes for the theater.”

  The mention of dancing had made Rachel’s appetite go away. She did not say anything, but instead of going on putting cereal in her mouth she messed about with it. Pursey did not seem to notice, but she did all the same, just as she had noticed Rachel’s spots, and that her face was yellowish where it should have been pink. “Better change the subject,” she thought, “she doesn’t want to hear about the school.”

  “What d’you think of our spare bedroom?” Pursey asked.

  “Very posh,” said Hilary. “Where does Dulcie sleep?”

  Pursey glanced again at Rachel; did she mind talking about

  Dulcie? It was clear she did not, for her eyes were interested. “Ever so sweet a little room. Rosebuds on the walls, pink eiderdown, organdie frills. Fit for a queen.”

  Hilary couldn’t help giggling. “Not much like a queen last night, she wasn’t.”

  Pursey dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. “Very naughty she was, but you see she’s an only child and has come to think the sun rises and sets round her. But there, as I’ve always said, pride comes before a fall. We had a nasty fall last night, all right. It isn’t like her father to say anything to her, but last night he did. She’s got to apologize to you both this morning.”

  Hilary finished her last mouthful of cereal. “I bet she won’t.”

  Pursey picked up both plates. “I’m not mentioning what isn’t eaten this morning, but it’s not to happen again, Rachel. We always eat what’s on our plates in this house.”

  There were eggs to follow, and served with them was brown bread and butter.

  Hilary took the top off her egg. “Go on about Dulcie. I bet she doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t look the sort of child who would.”

  “She will.” Pursey sat on Rachel’s bed. “It’s the quiet ones, who hardly every create a disturbance, who always get their own way when they do.” She looked at Rachel. “Your uncle’s a quiet one. He wants to see you after your lessons.”

  “What lessons?” Rachel asked.

  “Why, school lessons, of course. There’s an ever so nice Mrs. Storm who teaches Dulcie, and you’re to learn with her too.” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Rachel relax. “Funny,” she thought, “it must be the dancing lessons that get her. It’s Hilary’s dancing so well, I suppose, but Rachel doesn’t look the jealous sort.” Out loud she said: “You go to Mrs. Storm at half-past ten. While you’re at your lessons I’ll get your unpacking done.”

  Rachel raised her eyes from her egg. “You won’t throw anything away, will you?”

  “Of course not, dear, what an idea!” Pursey patted the bump in the bedclothes made by Rachel’s legs. “Later I’ll show you where you can find me when you want me. I’ll be wanting you after meals. I’ve got some medicine that will put some color into those cheeks, and there’ll be a nice piece of chocolate afterwards.” She got up and crossed to the tray again. “Milk with a dash of tea for you both, I suppose, and there’s a plate of bread and butter for when the eggs are finished. When I get back in about ten minutes I don’t want to see a crumb left.”

  After Pursey had gone Rachel and Hilary looked at each other.

  “Isn’t she a gorgeous person,” said Hilary.

  Pursey’s friendly pat on her legs had made Rachel feel damp about the eyes. She looked hard at her egg so that Hilary would not notice. “The nicest person in London, I should think.” Then she blinked the tears away and saw her egg clearly. Somehow it had all been eaten, and so had the bread and butter.

  CHAPTER 6

  In the Schoolroom

  It was very seldom that anything happened which Pursey did not know about, so she had not missed that Mrs. Storm was in a giving-notice mood. “We don’t want any trouble of that sort this morning,” she thought. So, leaving Rachel and Hilary to finish dressing, she hurried downstairs to catch Mrs. Storm before she had a chance to speak to Mrs. Wintle.

  There was a room by the front door which was used as a schoolroom.

  Mrs. Storm, when she saw Pursey, knew at once why she was there. She smiled at her affectionately and led the way into the schoolroom. “Good morning, Pursey. You’ve guessed what I am going to do this morning. But fond of you as I am you are not going to make me change my mind.”

  Pursey looked as she often had when she was a children’s Nannie and had to argue with somebody over what she thought was right in her nursery. “There’s two more children going to learn with you.”

  Mrs. Storm was taking off her hat and looking at her hair in a looking glass. She swung round. “Two more Little Wonders! If you think that’s going to change my mind you’re wrong.”

  Pursey’s cozy voice could be stern sometimes. “There’s nothing the matter with most of the Wonders. They’re nice hardworking children.” She paused to leave time for that to sink in. “But these two aren’t Wonders…at least, not yet they’re not.”

  Mrs. Storm opened a drawer and got out Dulcie’s school books. “Who are they then?”

  Pursey sat down and told Mrs. Storm all she knew about Rachel and Hilary. “Mrs. Wintle says the woman who looked after them says Rachel is hard, never cried when her mother died, that it was Hilary who was upset. But Rachel doesn’t look that sort to me. Mrs. W. says Hilary is a good dancer and that Rachel is jealous of her. I can’t say about that either. It may be true, or it may not. But one thing I do know, Mrs. Storm, both little girls will need friends. I’m speaking plain, but you know how it is in this house. It’s Dulcie first, and always will be.”

  Mrs. Storm put the pile of lesson books on the table. “Poor children, I’d like to help.” Then she thought about Dulcie. “But if I stay I’ll let Mrs. Wintle know I had meant to leave, and I’ll tell her what I think of the way she is bringing up her child.”

  Pursey moved to the door, then she paused. “It’s your business, of course, Mrs. Storm, but if you can make yourself do it I’d not say anything to upset Mrs. W. this morning. The little girls will be feeling strange, and we don’t want ructions their first day.”

  Before Mrs. Storm had time to think over what Pursey had said, and decide what to do, Mrs. Wintle was in the schoolroom. “Good morning. You’ve seen Pu
rsey, I hear, so you know about Rachel and Hilary.” She sat down. “Dulcie’s changing out of her dancing things, and Pursey won’t bring the other two to you for five minutes.”

  There was a pause. Mrs. Storm could feel that Mrs. Wintle was feeling for the words she wanted to say. To fill the gap Mrs. Storm said: “Yes, Mrs. Wintle?”

  Mrs. Wintle rapped with her fingers impatiently on the table. “It was all very sudden. But it seemed to me best to bring the children back with me last night. I telephoned of course to say they were coming, but no one had told Dulcie. They thought I would rather do it. It was a shock to the poor child when I arrived with two strange children. She said things she didn’t mean. Her father was cross about it and says Dulcie is to apologize. Such nonsense, still he insists. Will you see to it, Mrs. Storm? I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

  Mrs. Storm was startled. Dulcie’s father insisting on something. It had never happened before. She managed to keep surprise out of her voice. “Of course.”

  “It only wants the word ‘sorry.’ I’m sure you can handle it without upsetting Dulcie. Now for plans. The child Hilary appears to have considerable dancing talent, so I may teach her with Dulcie, or I may hand her over to Pat or Ena.”

  “Has she now,” thought Mrs. Storm. “I wonder how Dulcie will like that.” Out loud she said: “I see.”

  “The other child, Rachel, is unattractive. I must see what can be done with her. She may be good enough for one of my less talented troupes, or I may use her as an understudy.”

  Mrs. Wintle paused, so Mrs. Storm said again: “I see.”

  “Rachel will attend the usual beginners’ classes in the evenings, and on Saturdays. For the moment at any rate she is not worth wasting time on, so when Dulcie and Hilary are at dancing classes perhaps you would arrange homework for Rachel. She can work in here until you arrive.”