Holly had learned the Baby Polka at school and she liked dancing, so she held out imaginary skirts and pranced around the room.
Winifred suddenly called out, “Stop.” She came over to the new arrivals and one by one lifted first their right legs and then their left legs over their heads. Then she went to Madame and curtsied. “Elementary.”
Madame nodded. “But watch Holly, Winifred. You never know. I thought there might be a something.”
Winifred gave Madame a respectful but affectionate smile. “Another Posy?”
Madame shook her head. “One can’t expect to find two Posies in a lifetime, but I shall always go on looking. Come along, my dears.”
She stood in the door and Winifred and all the children curtsied and said “Madame.” The fat woman at the piano just sat and stared.
“I suppose she either doesn’t quite belong,” Sorrel thought, “or else she’s too bad a shape for curtsying. Lucky her!”
Madame took Sorrel and Mark and Holly into her own sitting room. It was a charming room but so full of photographs hung on the walls that the quite lovely blue-gray of the walls scarcely showed. Madame sat in an armchair. Hannah sat on a small upright chair behind the door, looking respectful. It was quite a little chair and she bulged over both sides.
“Now,” said Madame, as if she were in for a treat, “let us see if there is any of the Warren talent, or Margaret Shaw’s charm, or your own mother’s genius about you. I don’t want you to recite. Instead, go outside the door and think out a little story—a fairy story, anything you like—and come back and act it.”
In the passage outside the three leaned against the wall and tried to think what they could act. Sorrel knew right away that Mark would have to be a bear as he was in that sort of mood, and Holly would have to pretend that she was well dressed. But for the life of her she could not think at first of a story that would fit these characters.
Then suddenly Sorrel thought of just the thing. “Let’s do a kind of Red Riding Hood. Let’s have a little girl sent out to look for strawberries in the woods because they’re hungry at home, and there’s nothing to eat. And in the wood the little girl meets a bear and she’s terrified and runs home. Then the bear follows her and he turns out to be a prince, so he marries the little girl’s mother and they live happily ever after.”
“Where was the little girl’s father?” asked Mark.
“He died of smallpox,” Sorrel invented, “and that’s why they’re hungry, because there’s no one to work for them.”
“Pretty rotten for the bear having to turn into a prince,” Mark argued.
Sorrel lost her temper. “All right, then, think of a better story yourself. I’ve made you a bear and Holly can be as dressed up as she likes to think she is, and all I am is just an old mother cleaning the house. I think you’re jolly selfish.”
“Keep your hair on,” said Mark. “We’ll do your story. Only I shouldn’t think you’re as old as all that, otherwise why does the prince marry you? Princes don’t.”
Sorrel was so thankful to have gotten a story settled that she did not bother to argue with him. “Come on,” she said nervously. “Let’s do it just once before we go in.”
As soon as the door had shut on Sorrel and Mark and Holly, Madame Fidolia went to her desk and picked up a printed list and gave it to Hannah. Hannah was carrying a large brown bag with a zipper fastener. She undid it, took out her spectacles, put them on and read the list:
“Rompers, two (pattern to be obtained from the Academy). Tarlatan dresses, white, two. Knickers, frilled, two. Sandal shoes, white satin. Black patent-leather ankle-strap shoes. White socks, six pairs. Face towels, rough, two. Overalls, two (to be obtained from the Academy).” And at the bottom in large letters, “Everything must be clearly marked with the pupil’s name.”
Hannah knew just what state the family coupon books were in so she just stared at the list, looking hopeless.
Madame did not give her time to worry long. “That’s an old list, of course, from before the war. As you probably noticed at the elementary class we’ve just come from, all the children’s things are made of different colors and a lot of them were wearing shorts. Have the children got bathing dresses?”
“The little girl has, and Sorrel. But Mark’s are only a pair of drawers.”
“Well, with their shorts and shirts and their bathing things I expect they can manage. But they must have tunics of some sort for ballet. It’s hard for a pupil to be graceful in a bathing dress. So we have designed a short tunic with plain knickers underneath. It can be made out of anything. The children’s grandmother must have some old dresses put away that could be altered.”
Hannah was perfectly certain that she was not going to approach Grandmother. She did not mean to sound grumpy, but she did rather. “I couldn’t say, I’m sure. There wasn’t nothing in the vicarage suitable, I do know.”
Madame smiled. “Never mind, I’ll write to Miss Shaw.”
The night before Alice had explained to Hannah that actresses were usually known by their stage names. And so, though to Hannah Grandmother was Mrs. Warren, she accepted the fact that Madame would call her Miss Shaw.
“What about these overalls?” she asked, tapping the list. “They’ve got the cotton frocks they had for school.”
Madame smiled. “There we are fortunate. The overalls have always been made of black sateen from a Russian design, and have wide black leather belts. Black-out material is not rationed and these overalls are still made. The belts and the buttons we get from our old pupils. The real difficulty is shoes.”
“Both the girls have sandal shoes. They had them for their school dancing. And Mark’s got a pair of plimsolls, if that’ll do.”
Madame shook her head. “No, they will not. But I expect we shall manage. Old pupils send us shoes secondhand and if the girls have sandals, that’s something.” She looked at Hannah with a sweet smile. “You think it all a lot of nonsense, don’t you?”
Hannah squeezed her bag tightly in her hands. “It’s none of what I’m used to. I give respect where respect is due and I’m sure you mean well, Madame, but all this dancing and so on isn’t what was meant. The Reverend took a lot of looking after, what with being busy with his Bible animals and all that, and his clothes were a perfect disgrace with all my trying, but I could see what we were at. He was never a minute late for his services and he never missed a call from the village. Where we’re living now isn’t what I’m used to. No good pretending it is.”
Madame nodded. “I know, but you have to look at their grandmother’s point of view. Nobody knows if the children’s father will ever come back.”
Hannah’s hand shot up to her mouth. “Oh, don’t say that, Madame! Such a nice gentleman! And the gentleman in the Navy only said missing and they’ve never said worse.”
“I certainly shall not say it to them,” said Madame, “and I’m full of hope that we shall hear from him. But meanwhile they must be looked after. They come from an immensely famous theatrical family and blood tells. It would be a curious thing indeed if none of them had any talent. Of course, they will probably never need to earn their living. Their uncles and aunts are doing well and their grandmother has money and…”
Hannah had to interrupt. “I don’t know about the uncles and aunts, Madame, we haven’t seen them. But the old lady hasn’t any money. Alice, it’s her that looks after the old lady, she hasn’t known where to turn.”
Madame leaned forward, her voice startled. “Really! I had no idea! Well, in that case…” She broke off and held up a finger for at that moment Sorrel and Mark and Holly came back.
The charade was rather fun. Holly was very pleased with herself as the child, and Mark made a really grand bear, but it was Sorrel who surpassed herself. Somehow, seeing Holly off into the wood to look for strawberries because there was nothing to eat in the house wa
s so like what was really happening to them that it made her voice full of anxiety, and you could feel that she honestly minded. Then at the end, when Mark proposed, Sorrel was quite overcome, it all sounded so nice, and she said, “Oh, goodness, yes, I’d simply love to marry you. Thank you so very much for asking me,” with such fervor that even Hannah smiled and Madame went so far as to clap.
When the charade was over Madame went to a cupboard and took out a tin marked “candies.”
“These were sent me from America. From that Pauline whose picture you were looking at downstairs. I want to talk to you about those three sisters, so you each take a sweet and listen very carefully. The Fossils were brought to me because their guardian had gone away and not left enough money to look after them. Gum, they called him. It was short for Great-Uncle Matthew. A very nice person called Sylvia brought the three little Fossil girls up with the help of someone called Nana.”
“Was Nana like Hannah?” Holly interrupted.
“In a lot of ways, very like her. The children did well at my school. Pauline was, and is, lovely, and while she was still quite a child she went to Hollywood and became a very great film star. One day I will take you to see her in the pictures. But to me the most exciting of the three was Posy, the youngest. Even as a tiny child she had talent, sometimes I thought genius. When Posy was eleven she went to Czechoslovakia to study under the greatest living ballet teacher, Manoff. Before the Germans took Czechoslovakia, Monsieur Manoff and most of his pupils, including Posy and Nana, who was with her, escaped to America. There Posy and Nana joined Pauline and Sylvia in Hollywood. They had, of course, nothing but what they stood up in and I’m afraid poor Monsieur Manoff went through a bad time. But finally he succeeded in starting a ballet school of a sort in California and, of course, Posy attends the classes when she can. Posy, under another name, is dancing in the films.” Madame laughed. “She detests it, the naughty girl. I must read you her letters sometime.”
“What happened to the middle one?” asked Mark.
“Petrova?” Madame said the word affectionately. “Funny little girl! She is a countrywoman of my own. I am Russian. Petrova went away and lived with Great-Uncle Matthew and learned to fly. She is now a pilot. You know, what they call the Air Transport Auxiliary.”
Sorrel moved her sweet to the side of her mouth. “How old are they now?”
“Pauline will be twenty-two this December. Petrova is just twenty and Posy will be eighteen this month. Have another, do.”
They all bent over the box and chose carefully.
“Now listen carefully because this is where you come in,” went on Madame. “Pauline and Posy have both felt that they ought to be back in England doing something important, like Petrova. At least, I don’t suppose Posy thinks that because Posy would dance if there were nothing but smoldering ruins left to dance on. But all the same they would both like to help, and so they suggested something. They have sent me sums of money for two scholarships, Pauline’s for someone who shows promise in acting, and Posy’s for a dancer. So far I have not granted these scholarships, since the money only reached me last month. I have no hesitation at all, Sorrel, in saying that I think that Pauline would like her scholarship to go to you. It will pay all your fees and it will provide such clothes as we can manage and—they were both very particular about this—some pocket money.” She looked at Holly. “I’m going to start Posy’s scholarship by giving it to you. I shall write and explain to her why. She asked me to find a little girl who was very clever at dancing. I can’t say that about you yet. Perhaps if you work hard I shall be able to later on.” She leaned forward and picked another sweet out of the box and put it in Mark’s mouth. “As for you, my friend, we shall have to see. But I should not wonder if we found a scholarship for you, too.”
Mark looked up. He spoke very indistinctly because of the sweet in his mouth. “What, from the one who flies?”
Madame got up to show them that the interview was over. “I should not wonder. There was a very noticeable thing about the Fossil family, and that was the way they all stood together.”
Olivia went to the rink with Harriet, for the more Harriet thought about the girl on the poster, standing on one skate with the other foot high over her head, the more sure she was that she would be too shy to go alone to a place where people could do things like that. Doctor Phillipson was very kind, but he was a busy, rushing, tearing sort of man, who would be almost certain to introduce her to the manager by just saying “This is Harriet,” and then dash off again.
This was exactly what happened. Doctor Phillipson called for Harriet and her mother just after lunch and took them to the rink. He hurried them into a small office in which was a tired, busy-looking man, said, “This is Harriet, and her mother, Mrs. Johnson. Harriet, this is Mr. Matthews, the manager of the rink. I’ve got a patient to see,” and he was gone.
It took no time for Olivia to make friends with Mr. Matthews. She heard all about something called his duodenal ulcer, which was why he knew Doctor Phillipson, and all about how Doctor Phillipson had taken out his wife’s appendix, and of how Doctor Phillipson had looked after his twin boys, who were grown up now and married. Only when there were no more illnesses in the Matthews’ family left to talk about did Olivia mention skating.
“Doctor Phillipson tells me you’re going to be very kind and let Harriet come here to skate. He wants her to have exercise for her leg muscles.”
Mr. Matthews looked at Harriet’s legs in a worried sort of way. “Thin, aren’t they? Ever skated before?” Harriet explained she had not. “Soon pick it up. I’ll show you where you go for your skating shoes. Cost two shillings a session, they will.” He turned to Olivia. “I’ll have a word with my man who hires them out, ask him to find a pair that fit her. He’ll keep them for her; it’ll make all the difference.”
The way to the skate-hiring place was through the rink. Harriet had never seen a rink before. She gazed with her eyes open very wide at what seemed to her an enormous room with ice for a floor. In the middle of the ice were people—many of whom did not look any older than she was—doing what seemed to her terribly difficult things with their legs. On the outside of the rink, however, there were a comforting lot of people who seemed to know as little about skating as she did. They were holding onto the barrier round the side of the rink as if it was their only hope of keeping alive, while their legs did the most curious things in a way that evidently surprised their owners. In spite of holding onto the barrier, a lot of these skaters fell down and seemed to find it terribly difficult to get up again.
Harriet slipped her hand into her mother’s and pulled her down so that she could speak to her quietly without Mr. Matthews’ hearing.
“It doesn’t seem to matter here, not being able to skate, does it, Mummy?”
Olivia knew just how Harriet was feeling. “Of course not, pet. Perhaps some day you’ll be as grand a skater as those children in the middle.”
Mr. Matthews overheard what Olivia said. “I don’t know so much about that. Takes time and money to become a fine skater. See that little girl there?”
Harriet followed the direction in which Mr. Matthews was pointing, and saw a girl of about her own age. She was a very grand-looking little girl wearing a white sweater, a short white pleated skirt, white tights, white shoes, and a small white tight-fitting bonnet. She was a dark child with lots of loose curly hair and big dark eyes.
“The little girl in white?” Harriet asked.
“That’s right. Little Lalla Moore, promising child. Been brought here for a lesson almost every day since she was three.”
Olivia looked pityingly at Lalla. “Poor little creature! I can’t imagine she wanted to come here when she was three.”
Mr. Matthews obviously thought that coming to his rink at the age of three brought credit on the rink, for his voice sounded proud. “Pushed here in a pram, she was, by her nann
y.”
“I wonder,” said Olivia, “what could have made her parents think she wanted to skate when she was three.”
Mr. Matthews started walking again towards the skate-hiring place. “It’s not her parents—they were both killed skating. Been brought up by an aunt. Her father was Cyril Moore.”
Mr. Matthews said “Cyril Moore” in so important a voice that it was obvious he thought Olivia ought to know whom he was talking about. Olivia had never heard of anybody called Cyril Moore, but she said in a surprised, pleased tone:
“Cyril Moore! Fancy!”
At the skate-hiring place Mr. Matthews introduced Olivia and Harriet to the man in charge.
“This is Sam. Sam, I want you to look after this little girl. Her name is Harriet Johnson, she’s a friend of Doctor Phillipson’s, and as you can see from the look of her, she has been ill. Find shoes that fit her and keep them for her. She’ll be coming every day.”
Sam was a cheerful, red-faced man. As soon as Mr. Matthews had gone he pulled forward a chair.
“Sit down, duckie, and let’s have a dekko at those feet.” He ran a hand up and down Harriet’s calves and made disapproving, clicking sounds. “My, my! Putty, not muscles, these are.”
Harriet did not want Sam to think she had been born with flabby legs. She said:
“They weren’t always like this. It’s because they’ve been in bed so long with nothing to do. It seems to have made them feel terribly shaky, but Doctor Phillipson thinks if I skate they’ll get all right again. I feel rather despondent about them myself. They’ve been shaky a long time.”
Sam took one of Harriet’s hands, closed it into a fist and banked it against his right leg.
Dancing Shoes Page 18
