Neither Rachel nor Hilary had seen the papers, and over their bacon and eggs they were not discussing Rose-Colored Glasses, but Christmas presents. They were so deep in their talk they did not see Aunt Cora until she was standing by their table.
“Congratulations, Hilary,” Aunt Cora said in a very unpleased voice. “It’s lucky I take all the papers for if I had depended on Rachel’s report you might have been a failure.”
Hilary knew Rachel and Mrs. Storm had enjoyed the play, but she also realized why Rachel had not given a good description of her part. “Rachel doesn’t know about dancing. She liked the play.”
Aunt Cora would have enjoyed shaking Hilary as well as Rachel. “It’s heart-breaking, Rachel. You’ll be thirteen next month, and have been trained by me for three years…”
Hilary interrupted her. “Three years in March.”
“Don’t quibble,” said Aunt Cora. “And not only can you not get even understudy work to the group three Wonders but you can’t report to me correctly on how Hilary danced.”
With twinkling eyes, Hilary watched Aunt Cora leave the room. Then she helped herself to another piece of toast. “I wonder what that was all about. I shouldn’t think I could have got good enough notices for her to be jealous for Dulcie. But we’d better buy all the papers and find out.”
CHAPTER 27
The Studio
Because Rose-Colored Glasses attracted attention all through its run photographs of the cast appeared in lots of papers and magazines, Hilary’s amongst them. As well, she was interviewed in a programme on television called Personalities on Parade, and in this she was considered one of the television hits of the week.
“Are you nervous?” the interviewer asked her.
“Not a bit,” Hilary replied truthfully. “But I’m in a hurry, because there’s a thriller I want to get home in time to see.”
When asked if she was enjoying playing the robin, she said: “Not really. Quite truthfully I don’t want solo parts. What I want is to dance in a troupe.”
Asked if someday she would like to be a star, she said, with horror in her voice: “Not likely. I hate work.”
Dulcie found Hilary’s success hard to bear. It made it worse that Hilary took everything for granted and was not particularly interested. Dulcie was not exactly jealous of her, for she had been to see Rose-Colored Glasses and, though she thought Hilary was good, she could see that her success was more because the part of the robin suited her than because of what she did with it. But she minded dreadfully that it was Hilary the school talked about and not her. She was much to proud to say so, but she dreaded going backstage with her mother to visit the Wonders, for she thought she knew what they were saying about her. But she kept her dread to herself and, if anything, looked prouder than usual. Certainly she sounded grander, for after her mother’s “Well done, chickabiddies. We were proud of them, weren’t we, Dulcie?” she looked round with a kind smile to answer: “I thought you did awfully well.”
If Dulcie could have known what the Wonders were really saying she would have minded visiting them even more than she did: “Poor old Dulcie-Pulsie.” “Pretty sickening for her not working, and Hilary being such a success.” “Can’t help being sorry for her.”
Even though she did not know the Wonders were pitying her, night after night Dulcie would roll over on her face and mutter into her pillow. “It isn’t fair. I’m clever, and I’m going to have a great future. Everybody knows I am. Why doesn’t Al Purk get me some work? Why haven’t I got a film contract? He said I would have one….”
Rachel had to work for three weeks in Aladdin. This year it was ordinary colds that put the Wonders to bed. She started as understudy, but after two nights she had to go on.
“It’s worse than last year,” she told Hilary gloomily, “for in Aladdin’s cave we’re all jewels and have steps to do alone. I’m a little diamond, and I look terrible, for the dress doesn’t fit me anywhere.”
For convenience, while the matinées of Rose-Colored Glasses lasted, Hilary did her lessons with the other children in the cast in the theater wardrobe. She was delighted, for the governess at the theater was not half as strict as Mrs. Storm. The arrangement did not please anybody else.
“Just because Hilary is not your pupil for a few weeks that doesn’t mean I want Dulcie forced up to Rachel’s standard,” Mrs. Wintle told Mrs. Storm. “She will be taking extra outside elocution classes, and that with her dancing is more than enough.”
“I wish your play would come off,” Rachel told Hilary. “I hate lessons with Dulcie only. I feel she’s waiting to pounce on me.”
“I miss Hilary,” Mrs. Storm told Mr. Storm. “She’s a lazy little thing, but she finds Dulcie’s airs and graces funny, whereas Rachel is at her worst when she is alone with her. There’s never an open quarrel but I’m always afraid Dulcie will start saying something about Hilary and then there will be.”
Quite likely the quarrel Mrs. Storm dreaded would have happened had not some exciting news for Dulcie put everything else out of her mind. It started with a small column in a Sunday paper:
In some schoolroom a dark-haired child is working whose name in a few months’ time will be known all over the world. The reason is that a film is to be made of that best-selling novel Flotsam. My tip to the director is to remember a small girl who made a big hit last year in a short-lived musical.
Neither Mrs. Wintle nor Dulcie could bear to wait for Mr. Al Purk’s office to open on Monday; when it did there was good news.
“It’s all lined up,” said Mr. Al Purk. “As I told them last week, they won’t have far to look for a dark-haired child. They’ll see Dulcie on Thursday.”
“Are they seeing only Dulcie?”
“Maybe a few others. But I’ve a hunch Tony Bing, who’s directing, knows who he wants, and my guess is it’s little Dulcie.”
To Dulcie the news that she probably was going to star in a film was like the difference between a fine day in summer and a cold wet one in winter. Her mother was as pleased and excited as she was.
“Only three days,” she told Mrs. Storm, “and such a lot to do. She must have a new frock, and I must have her hair done. And I want you to read Flotsam to her so that she gets an idea of the part.”
Although it was not exactly lessons, Flotsam was a well-written book, so Mrs. Storm stretched a point and allowed reading it to count as literature. It was a long book to get through, even with skipping, so she read it to Dulcie and Rachel during breaks in the afternoons.
The heroine of the book was a child called Vera. At the beginning of the story she lived in an orphanage. Nobody knew anything about her, as when she was a baby she had been the only person rescued from a ship which had been torpedoed off Singapore in the last war. The sailors who rescued her had christened the baby Vera. When the story proper started Vera was thirteen, a queer lonely little girl. Then her life changed. A rich old couple whose son had lived in Singapore, where he had been killed, learned that he had been married and that there had been a baby. It was possible that the baby was Vera. So they took Vera to live with them on trial to see if she was the sort of child their son might have had. To Vera a real home and living in the country was paradise after the orphanage, but she was so different, except in coloring, from the son the old people remembered that they decided she was not their grandchild. What the old people had to learn was that it is the way a child is brought up, the qualities with which it is born, rather than who its parents were, that form a character. Just at the end of the book they discovered that they loved Vera for herself, so it did not matter if she was their grandchild or not.
“Well, Dulcie,” said Mrs. Storm as she closed the book, “do you think you could act Vera?”
Dulcie was sure she could act any part. “Of course I could.”
Mrs. Storm could not imagine Dulcie being good as Vera, but she could s
ee why she might get the part. She was dark, which Vera had to be, and she had the sort of face which looked extra pretty on a film or television screen. Besides which, acting in a film was quite different from acting in a play: the scenes were shot one at a time. Probably a good coach could make Dulcie say her lines in the way the director wanted.
On Thursday a very excited Dulcie went with her mother to her interview. But a more subdued Dulcie came back, so subdued that at first the rumor raced round the school that she had not got the part of Vera. But later Pursey heard the true story. Mrs. Wintle told it to her.
“I feel sure Dulcie will get the part. It was clear that Mr. Bing, who is directing the picture, was very taken with her. But he has another thirty girls to see, imagine! I call it a waste of time. He is fixing film tests for the probables next week, which of course means a test for Dulcie.”
Sure enough, the next week Dulcie went for her film test. This time she came back in wild spirits, so the gossip was she had almost got the part of Vera.
“It’s not definite,” Mrs. Wintle told Pursey, “but Al Purk is pretty hopeful. He’s even gone so far as to discuss money. She’ll start at a hundred pounds a week for this film, but he expects it will lead to a long contract at more money.”
Pursey did not believe in counting chickens before they were hatched. “I wouldn’t get too set on the film, dear. If Dulcie is meant to play it she’ll play it, and if she isn’t something else will turn up.”
Mrs. Wintle looked at Pursey with despair mixed with affection. “You’re a silly old goose. This is Dulcie’s great chance. A part like this won’t turn up again. She’ll get it. I know she’ll get it. I see her name in enormous electric lights.”
Pursey saw she could not stop Mrs. Wintle from counting unhatched chickens, so she said: “Well, I hope there’s news one way or the other soon. It isn’t good for you or Dulcie either getting yourselves into such a state.”
When the next news came Mrs. Wintle was away. There had been a letter from the holiday camp manager, who was planning to use more Wonders that year, asking her to come north to see him. Mrs. Wintle had not wanted to go, but Al Purk, when asked on the telephone, said he thought it would be all right.
“You can trust me, Mrs. W. I’ve got my spies out, and they tell me the studio is still looking at the tests but that our little lady heads the list. I don’t think we’ll hear anything for another day or so.”
But Mrs. Wintle’s train had only just left the station when the telephone bell rang at the school. “Would Mrs. Wintle bring Dulcie to the studio that afternoon? Mr. Bing wanted to have a talk with her.”
Pat took the message and knew that with Mrs. Wintle away only one person could decide who should take Dulcie to the studio, and that was Dulcie’s father. A few minutes later Uncle Tom walked into the schoolroom. “Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Storm, but they want Dulcie at the studio this afternoon. As my wife’s away will you take her?” Then he thought about Rachel. “You’d better go along too, old lady.”
Dulcie was so excited that she danced around the room. “Imagine if I telephone Mum tonight to say I’ve got the film contract! Won’t she be pleased? May I go and tell Pursey to press my new frock?”
Mrs. Storm corrected her. “You may go and ask Pursey if she will do it.”
“What ought I to wear, do you suppose?” Rachel asked Mrs. Storm while Dulcie was out of the room.
“Is a studio a place where I’ll have to wear my Wonder’s uniform?”
Mrs. Storm had no idea what Mrs. Wintle would have answered to that, but she knew her own feelings. “For goodness sake don’t. Wear what you like. Nobody’s going to look at you.”
What Rachel liked was an orange woolen frock, one of the dresses which Uncle Tom had designed for her. Over it she put on a brown coat. She did not wear a hat. Under her arm she carried her favorite book, The Wind in the Willows, which she knew from experience was wonderful for making time disappear. However long she had to wait at the studio the time would slide away while she lived on the river bank with Mole, Ratty, and Toad.
“Very nice too,” said Mrs. Storm approvingly when she saw Rachel. “Those colors suit you.”
Mr. Bing had seen four girls that day before he saw Dulcie. They were the final choice out of the hundred odd he had first interviewed. Dulcie, as Al Purk had said, headed the list. So that the children being interviewed had room to move about Mr. Bing was seeing them not in his office but on the studio floor. With him were his secretary, Miss Orton, and his assistant director, Mr. Brown. As they waited they looked through the still photographs that had been taken of Dulcie.
“It’s certainly a lovely little face,” said Mr. Brown.
Mr. Bing sighed in a worried way. “But is it the face Vera would have had? That’s what I ask myself.”
Miss Orton picked up another photograph. “To me it is. But I’m not sure of her voice.”
“Neither am I,” Mr. Bing agreed. “If I could make up my mind about that I’d tell Al Purk to go ahead with the contract.”
“That new coach, Mrs. Robinson, isn’t worried,” Mr. Brown reminded him. “She says the child’s clever, and she’s sure she can be taught to do anything you want.”
Mr. Bing tossed the photographs on the table. “I don’t want a taught child, I want one that can feel. But I suppose it’s no good expecting a miracle. Pop along, Brown, and tell Dulcie we’re ready to see her.”
Rachel and Mrs. Storm sat down on two chairs a scene shifter pointed out to them. They were near enough to hear what went on but not near enough to be in the way. Watching Dulcie was so interesting that Rachel forgot The Wind in the Willows and felt as if she were in a theater watching a play.
Dulcie was told to show Mr. Bing how she would act Vera the first time she met her possible grandparents. There was a door on the set, and over and over again Dulcie came through it, saying: “I’m Vera. Vera Valiant they call me. It was the name of the ship that rescued me.” Sometimes Dulcie did something or said her lines as Mr. Bing liked, but more often she was not right.
“No, my dear,” he said. “You’re not a successful child actress now, you’re a lonely little creature from an orphanage.”
Then Mr. Bing changed the scene. There was a place in the book where Vera first discovered a bird’s nest. To help, a tree with a nest in it had been put up. That should have been an easy scene for Dulcie, but unfortunately for her she did not find birds’ nests interesting, and she did not sound as if she did. She only had to say: “A nest! With eggs in it!” But though she tried hard she evidently did not say the words quite as Mr. Bing wanted them said.
The last scene Mr. Bing wanted was a sad one. It was the moment when Vera learned the old people had decided she was not their grandchild and must go back to the orphanage. In the book Vera said good-by to the house and garden, and that was what Mr. Bing wanted Dulcie to pretend she was doing.
“I want you to make up lines. Just good-by will do. Pretend you’ve got favorite trees and plants which you won’t see again.”
Dulcie was, Rachel thought, rather good in that scene, for she did seem to be sad, and she did seem to be looking at plants and trees. But still she had not given Mr. Bing what he wanted. He jumped out of his chair and ran to her.
“No, my dear, no. You’re doing it all too prettily. This matters to you, you are feeling as Eve must have felt when she was turned out of the Garden of Eden. Now, let me show you. Give me your hand.” He turned, and as he did so he saw Rachel. He dropped Dulcie’s hand and came over to her.
“Where have you sprung from? Brown, Miss Orton, come here. If this child can act our search is over. This is the face I’ve been looking for.”
CHAPTER 28
The End of the Story
Rachel thought how lucky it was that she was wearing Uncle Tom’s frock. How awful if she had been dressed as a Wonder, for she was told t
o take off her coat and play the scenes Dulcie had just acted. Imagine being Vera in her little-girl frock!
Standing outside the property door, through which she had to enter, Rachel knew exactly how Vera would feel at that moment. “Like me,” she thought, “waiting to go into Aunt Cora’s sitting room. Only it will be worse for Vera because I had a home of my own once, and she never had one.”
In such silence that if a mouse had dropped a whisker it would have been heard, Rachel opened the door and, looking directly at Mr. Bing but seeing Aunt Cora, said in a nervous whisper: “I’m Vera. Vera Valiant they call me. It was the name of the ship that rescued me.”
As she finished speaking Mr. Bing said in an awed voice: “And I said I could not expect a miracle. I only hope this child really exists, and that I’m not dreaming.”
Everything was not settled that day, for there had to be a film test, but three days later Al Purk, very scared, brought Mrs. Wintle Rachel’s contract.
“Wonderful terms, Mrs. W.,” he said. “They’ll pay Mrs. Storm’s salary, and there’ll be transport, and…”
Mrs. Wintle’s voice might have been spending a week in a refrigerator. “Her uncle will sign. He is Rachel’s legal guardian. Her affairs have nothing to do with me.”
Rachel’s taking the part of Vera from under Dulcie’s nose caused a sensation in the school, but nobody dared speak about it except in a whisper. Mrs. Wintle was in such a bad mood no one even looked at her unless she spoke first, and then they scurried out of her sight as quickly as they could. Many of the Wonders, and Pat and Ena, would have liked to say something kind to Dulcie, but they did not dare, for she had cried off and on since she had left the studio, and they were afraid anything they said might make her cry again. For, as Pursey had always prophesied, Miss High-and-Mighty had fallen, and no fall could have been harder. It was bad enough at the last moment not getting the film contract, but that Rachel, the despised Rachel, should get it in her place was beyond bearing.
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