Dancing Shoes

by Noel Streatfeild

  There was another pause, during which Mrs. Storm thought of the unattractive Rachel. Poor child, how depressing if you were plain by nature to have to grow up to be either a Little Wonder or an understudy to one. It was at that moment Mrs. Storm decided to bear with Dulcie and stay on. “I see.”

  Mrs. Wintle had noticed the pause and misunderstood it. “These are only temporary plans. If you find Rachel tiresome, there is no reason why you should teach her. As she will not be having special classes she can go to the local school.” She looked at her watch and got up. “The children will be here in a moment. Don’t make too much of the apology. Poor little Dulcie, she will hate it so.”

  Rachel and Hilary, with Pursey, arrived in the schoolroom only a second before Dulcie shot in. Dulcie was wearing a scarlet frock and scarlet shoes, and her cheeks were scarlet. Although she was cross she still looked prettier than any child Rachel and Hilary had met before. They stared at her admiringly. Dulcie stood in front of them, her chin in the air.

  “My father says I am to say I was sorry I was rude to you last night. I don’t think I was rude, I think I was just truthful, for I said what I meant. But if you think I was rude I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Storm was about to tell Dulcie that it was a very poor apology, but Pursey gave her a look over the children’s heads as if to say, “Let that pass.” Aloud she said: “This is Rachel, Mrs. Storm, and this is Hilary. And now I’ll leave you, for you’ll want to be getting on with the lessons.”

  Mrs. Storm had placed four chairs around the table. “You sit here, Rachel, and you here, Hilary. We’ll have to have a sort of examination this morning to see what you know. How old are you both?”

  “Ten,” said Hilary. “Rachel was ten in January, and I was ten five days ago.”

  “January and March,” said Mrs. Storm. “Dulcie will be eleven in November, so you are the eldest, Dulcie. We’ll start with arithmetic. Where have you got to, Rachel?”

  Because Dulcie had been Mrs. Storm’s only pupil, and Rachel had learned in a class with more than thirty other children, Dulcie was ahead of her at lessons. This put Dulcie in a good temper and made her forget about having had to apologize.

  “If I’ve got to have you here,” she said to Rachel, “I’m glad you’re only just behind me at lessons. It’ll be fun beating you.”

  It was half-past eleven, the time when there was a break for milk and biscuits. Mrs. Storm passed the biscuits around.

  “I expect Rachel will soon catch you up, Dulcie. She’s not far behind you, and she’s going to do some extra work for me while you and Hilary are at your morning dancing class.”

  This was the first Dulcie had heard of Hilary being able to dance. “You won’t be dancing with me, Hilary. I’m much too advanced for you.”

  “How d’you know?” Hilary asked.

  Dulcie found that difficult to answer. It was one of those things nobody in the school argued about. She was the best dancer and that was that. Now she said: “I’ve been learning all my life.”

  Hilary did not care really if she danced as well as Dulcie or not, but no child was going to talk to her in a proud voice. “I’ve been learning quite a long time. And, as a matter of fact, if I hadn’t come here I was going to The Royal Ballet School.”

  Dulcie caught her breath. The Royal Ballet School! It could not be true. “I bet they wouldn’t have had you.”

  Hilary shrugged her shoulders. “You may be right, but Madame Raine, who taught me, thought they would.”

  “Can you do tap and acrobatics?”

  “No, but I’ll soon learn.”

  Rachel could bear the argument no longer. She got out of her chair and ran to Hilary. She took hold of her shoulders and shook her until Hilary was pink in the face. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You aren’t to learn acrobatics or tap, and you aren’t going to be a Little Wonder.”

  Dulcie lay across the table, her chin on her folded arms, her eyes glued on Rachel and Hilary. This would be something to tell Mum. Who would have to apologize now? Aloud she said: “Why isn’t Hilary to be a Wonder?”

  Rachel let go of Hilary and, with her eyes looking as if coals were burning in them, she faced Dulcie. “Because I say so. It’s me who decides now what Hilary will do.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Rachel in Trouble

  It was, Rachel discovered, all very well to talk in a big grand way, but when you were ten years old, and had been taken in by an uncle and aunt as a kindness, nobody paid the slightest attention to what you wished.

  After Rachel had said Hilary was not to learn to be a Wonder, Mrs. Storm had started lessons again as if nothing was wrong. But it was rather like spreading a clean cloth over a table to hide a mess underneath. It did not make the mess any less real. Rachel, after being excited by being angry, felt sick and looked it. Hilary, trying to pretend she was not, kept looking at Dulcie, wishing she could finish arguing with her about who danced best. Dulcie was thinking how she would tell her mother every word Rachel had said. Mrs. Storm was talking about Twelfth Night as if she thought all three children were listening, when she knew none of them were.

  After lessons Rachel was sent to the room her Uncle Tom used as a studio. He was painting at an easel, but he stopped as soon as Rachel came in. He gave her rather a paint-smelling hug.

  “Hullo, my dear. I hope you and Hilary are settling in. I’m sorry about last night. Dulcie didn’t mean to be unkind. I hope she’s told you she’s sorry.”

  Rachel did not quite know how to answer either about the settling in or Dulcie, so she went over to the easel and looked at the picture Uncle Tom was painting. It was for once a money-earning picture, a portrait of a fat man. It was not an easy picture to say anything nice about, because the fat man was ugly and seemed to Rachel an odd person to want to paint. Then she had an idea.

  “Is he a relation?” she asked.

  Uncle Tom laughed. “No, thank goodness. He’s what’s known as a city magnate. This portrait’s going to hang in what’s called a board room. When it’s finished I shall be able to paint more pictures that I like painting, like this one.” Uncle Tom pulled out a canvas from a pile against a wall and turned it to face Rachel. She looked at it for some time before understanding what it was a picture of, then she saw that it was a public park with people lying on the grass.

  Uncle Tom laid a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Look, old lady, I am very keen that you should be happy with us. If there’s anything you want, or would like to talk over, you’ll usually find me here at some time each day. I’ll help any way I can.”

  Rachel looked up at Uncle Tom. Sudden hope made her eyes shine. “Can I ask you something now?”

  “Of course.”

  “Would you tell Aunt Cora that she’s not to teach Hilary to dance? Say that she’s to send her to The Royal Ballet School.”

  Even before she had finished speaking Rachel saw it was no good. Uncle Tom’s face had a hopeless look. “Oh dear, if only you had asked me something else. I can’t interfere with the dancing side of things. Your aunt wouldn’t listen to me.”

  Rachel stared at the floor, swallowing hard. Why had Uncle Tom said he would help if the moment he was asked to do something he said he couldn’t? Somehow she swallowed the lump in her throat, but her voice came out rather small from having fought to get rid of it. “I see. Thank you very much for showing me your pictures. I expect I ought to go and get washed for lunch.”

  Luncheon was eaten in the school canteen, which was in the basement. There was a counter at one end, where the staff and Wonders could buy a hot meal.

  Rachel and Hilary took a tray to the counter and were handed their food already on plates. It was cottage pie, with a milk pudding and prunes to follow.

  Hilary nudged Rachel. “Where do you think we ought to sit? Ought we to sit with them?”

  “Them” were Dulcie and her mother.
They were sitting at the end of one of the tables, with their heads close together, deep in conversation.

  “They don’t look as if they were expecting us,” Rachel whispered.

  “Thank goodness,” said Hilary. She led the way to the table at which Mrs. Storm and Pursey, also deep in conversation, were sitting. “Can we sit here?”

  Pursey broke off what she was saying and beamed at them both. “Of course, my lambs. I ought to have been looking out for you, but we’re so used to this canteen we forget others aren’t. Now you eat that cottage pie while it’s hot, Rachel dear.”

  After luncheon Rachel went to the wardrobe to have her medicine. While Pursey was pouring it out she decided that she was the person who would understand about Hilary’s dancing. “I was wondering, Pursey, do you think you could make Aunt Cora see that Hilary shouldn’t be here?”

  Pursey had heard from Mrs. Storm all about the row in the schoolroom and had been wondering if she should say anything. Rachel’s having brought up the subject of Hilary decided her. She spoke severely. “Look, dear. I don’t know what’s in your mind about Hilary, but of course I’ve heard what was spoken this morning, for nothing is a secret in this place. You said it was for you to decide what dancing Hilary learned, didn’t you?”

  Rachel was still hoping to make Pursey understand. “Yes, and I was quite right. You see…”

  Pursey, though she was sorry for Rachel, thought she was behaving badly. She held up a hand to stop her from saying more. “You were not right. It’s very good of your aunt and uncle to take Hilary, for she’s nothing to them, and it’s a wonderful chance for her, seeing that she’s studied dancing.”

  Rachel could have stamped her foot at such stupidity. “It’s not a wonderful chance, it’s a bad chance. I don’t want Hilary to do any dancing here. Actually, I don’t want her to be here at all.”

  Pursey’s voice was really stern. “Now listen, dear. You’re speaking wrongly, and you know it. I daresay it does seem hard that Hilary’s quite the dancer, while you’ve got it all to learn, but she’s your adopted sister, and that’s not a nice way to feel about a sister.”

  Rachel gasped. “But…”

  Pursey held up her hand. “No, dear, let me finish, and then we won’t talk of this again. You’ve had a sad time, and I quite understand how you feel. These are your relatives and not Hilary’s. But that isn’t nice, is it? You wouldn’t want to think poor little Hilary had nowhere to go.”

  Rachel could not believe that nice Pursey could mean what she was saying. She could not really think she did not want Hilary to live with her. Everybody knew she wanted Hilary. Aunt Cora knew it was because of The Royal Ballet School. She must have told Pursey. How could she make Pursey understand? “I would rather live without Hilary if it meant she could…”

  But Pursey refused to listen. “None of that talk, dear. Live without Hilary indeed!” She had found her yard measure. “Now, let’s measure you. You want practice dresses, one off and one on, and then there’s shoes to get, those for tap, and those for stage…”

  Rachel stared at the yard measure. “I’m not going to learn to dance.”

  Pursey went on measuring. “Of course you are, dear. How else will we make a Little Wonder of you?”

  CHAPTER 8

  Settling In

  Mrs. Wintle was famous for her troupes of dancers. Sometimes she got an engagement for a child as a principal, but it was unusual. When her telephone bell rang it was usually a manager saying “I want ten little blondes” or “I’m looking for six really smart kiddies, Mrs. W.” So the aim of the school was to teach all the pupils to dance alike. Of course all the children were not equally good, so they were graded into three standards. It was from number one group that children were sent to auditions when a manager asked for really smart kiddies. The number two group danced in troupes of usually twelve. Number three group was used on tour in not very big towns, or in large troupes where not too high a standard was expected, or as understudies. Nobody liked belonging to number three group; everyone tried to climb out of it as quickly as possible.

  There were four classes all the pupils had to attend. Tap dancing, musical comedy, acrobatics, and singing. As well, there were ballet classes for a few promising children. The Little Wonders came to their classes immediately after ordinary school finished. They began attending classes when they were about six years of age, so they were usually working in a group by the time they were eight.

  Poor Rachel, who had done no dancing, had to work with the beginners. As she was two years older than the eldest of them, she felt as tall as a giant and as sprawly about the legs as a Daddy-Long-Legs.

  For dancing, all the Wonders wore bright green practice tunics, white socks, and patent-leather shoes with straps around the ankle. These shoes were known throughout the school as “awkward-Adas.” For tap they had another pair of awkward-Adas, with steel tips to the toes.

  It had been decided that Hilary must keep up her ballet dancing.

  “You never know,” Mrs. Wintle said to Pat and Ena, “it might get her a little solo. You’d better take her, Pat, for an hour each morning while I’m teaching Dulcie.”

  Pat had diplomas for teaching ballet; she taught Dulcie, and she had a class for ballet on Saturday mornings. But ballet was very much a side line in the school. As a form of dancing it was not so generally useful as musical comedy or tap. So it was good news for Pat that she was to teach Hilary. It would be nice to have a pupil who had been carefully taught before she came to her.

  “We ought to start acting classes, Mrs. W., if we have many more children like…” Pat was going to say “Hilary,” but she remembered just in time whom she was talking to, so she said, “Dulcie and Hilary.”

  Ena supported her. “We ought, Mrs. W., Dulcie would make a lovely principal in a children’s play or in a pantomime. It’s too early to say yet, of course, but we might do something with Hilary too.”

  Mrs. Wintle did not altogether like that. It was all very well to say Dulcie might be a star, but there was no need to bracket Hilary with her. “I think Dulcie’s a natural little actress, but I’ll tell Mrs. Storm to give her extra elocution. Perhaps next year the child might take outside elocution classes.”

  As well as her morning ballet Hilary had either an hour’s tap or an hour’s acrobatics and musical comedy each evening. On Saturdays she had the general singing class and two hours’ dancing. Because she had been well grounded in ballet she was too good for the beginners’ classes, so she was put straight away into group two, and very hard work she found it. But some of her lessons made her laugh.

  “Just like horses we look,” she told the other girls after a musical comedy class, “so prancy and knees-up looking.”

  Acrobatics were fun to her too. Every spare minute she was trying to turn a cartwheel.

  “Watch this child you taught, Madame Raine,” she would think as she shot forward on one hand. “What would you say if you saw her now?”

  Hilary easily got used to anything, and she would have enjoyed herself in the school if it had not been for Rachel. Of course Hilary knew the sort of dancing Madame Raine had wanted her to learn. She knew too that Rachel’s mother had agreed she was to learn that sort of dancing. But she was not a bit sure that if Rachel’s mother could see her now she would not be quite pleased. After all, she had said she was having her taught to dance because someday she expected to be kept in luxury by her star ballerina. Of course the dancing she was doing now, except for Pat’s class, was not The Royal Ballet School sort of dancing, but what did that matter? She was being trained to be a dancer, so she could not see what Rachel was fussing about.

  Ever since she had been adopted Hilary had felt as if she really was Rachel’s sister. They had always shared everything, especially things to talk about, and it seemed so odd suddenly not to be able to talk about something they were both doing every day. But
there was no way of making Rachel talk about dancing lessons, except her ballet class with Pat. As soon as she started to say: “Imagine, at tap this evening…” or something like that, Rachel turned her back on her.

  “I don’t want to hear. I’m not interested in your tap.”

  Because dancing was the obvious thing to talk about, and Rachel would not talk about it, Hilary spent less time with her. Of course the grownups noticed, and of course most of them misunderstood and blamed Rachel.

  It was not only Hilary, and not being able to do what her mother had asked her to do, that worried Rachel. It was her own dancing classes. How they bored her, and how difficult she found them. It was not that she did not try, she did, but her feet simply would not obey her. She tried so hard sometimes that she woke herself up in the night kicking up her legs, as Ena was trying to teach her to do in musical comedy classes. But worst of all was tap. Even the smallest beginner seemed to understand tap, and some of them were quite clever at it, but not Rachel. “Brush,” she would mutter, “brush,” trying desperately to get the feel of the steel on her shoe. But when she tried to brush one foot in front of the other her shoe either did not touch the ground or, instead of brushing, scratched the floor. Nobody could like not being able to do something that babies of six could manage. In fact Rachel was beginning to feel a most inferior person.

  To make Rachel feel more inferior, in spite of Pursey’s medicine, she still looked pale and still had spots, neither of which look good against a bright green tunic. Then, though Hilary had tried several times to pin up Rachel’s plaits in the way Rachel’s mother had done, she had not succeeded. So Rachel’s plaits still stuck out on each side of her head. In a school given up to trying to turn children into Little Wonders it was not surprising that people sighed when they looked at Rachel. Nor was it surprising that Rachel knew they were sighing, and why.

  The best part of the day for Rachel was lessons. Mrs. Storm, because it was not her business to turn Rachel into a Wonder, thought about her as an ordinary little girl. She felt sorry for her, for she knew it was no fun being the plainest child. She had been a plain child herself. Luckily, as she now knew but of course Rachel did not, what you looked like at school had very little to do with what you looked like when you grew up. The ugliest child often turned out a beauty. But because she knew how it felt not to be pretty she would sometimes think about Rachel. “If she was mine,” she would wonder, “what would I do to improve her appearance?”