by Pamela Brown
‘How old?’
‘About fourteen, I think. But the teacher says that she’s dreamy and bad at lessons, and attends school very irregularly—’
‘Sounds as though she’s got the makings of an actress then,’ said Lyn wryly. ‘What’s her name?’
‘It’s a beautiful name—Zillah Pendray.’
‘Phew!’ whistled Vicky. ‘That sounds too much like Hollywood to be true.’
‘I know. Some of these kids have got extraordinary names—at the other end of the scale we have Pansy Fish!’
‘No, I don’t believe it—’
‘Yes, it’s quite true. And so is Zillah. I have a feeling about her. I’d like you both to come and have a look at her when you’ve got time.’
‘I can come any day during the day-time,’ said Lyn.
‘I can’t come any day-time, except Wednesday,’ said Vicky.
‘Let’s go on Wednesday then,’ said Lynette. ‘I’m anxious to see this discovery of yours.’
‘I hope you’ll like her—of course, you may think she’s ghastly—vacant-looking in fact. But I think she’s unusual.’
At this moment there was a knock on the door, and in came Mrs Leonard with a tray loaded with steaming hot beakers of cocoa, home-made jam tarts and cheese straws.
‘Oh, how heavenly,’ cried Lyn. ‘You do believe in feeding us up, don’t you?’
The cheery little woman beamed at them. ‘I do that, Miss Lynette. You’re all three nothing but a drink o’ water. And no-one can ever say they’ve stayed in my house and not gone away fatter than when they came.’ And out she went, leaving them munching away happily.
Before long Miss Felton came in, back late from a meeting in Axminster. She, too, joined the cocoa party, and warmed herself beside the bedroom fire.
‘Sandra’s been telling us about a discovery of hers—Zillah someone or other—’
Miss Felton wrinkled her brows. ‘Oh, yes—the Pendray girl. She’s a strange type. I can never quite make her out. There was some trouble about her being in the play, I believe. Her parents don’t want her to be. But apparently they’re letting her now, on the condition that she doesn’t go up to Edinburgh for the contest, isn’t that right, Sandra? Still, she won’t be much loss to you. She doesn’t sing very well, does she?’
‘No,’ said Sandra, ‘but you should hear her speaking voice.’
‘I don’t think I ever have.’
‘Come over with us on Wednesday then,’ said Lyn.
‘We’re going to look her over.’
‘Yes, I will,’ said Miss Felton. ‘Pass the cheese straws, please, Vicky. More cocoa, Lyn?’
‘Yes, and a jam tart please…’
12
FARMHOUSE TEA
‘We’ve come in full force today,’ laughed Miss Felton, as the four of them entered the schoolroom at Polgarth where Sandra’s musical play was about to be rehearsed. Lyn and Vicky immediately looked round for the girl Sandra had described. There was no doubt as to which she was, although she stood with her back to them gazing out of the window. The poise of her head, the long curling dark hair and her strange graceful carriage marked her as one apart from the clumsy, shouting, giggling children who were running around trying to arrange the furniture for the play. And when she turned to face them, they caught their breaths. Her complexion was fair, with vivid colouring, and her eyes were of the bluest blue imaginable.
‘Well,’ whispered Lyn to Vicky.
‘Isn’t she amazing?’
‘Yes. But is she always like that?’
‘That’s the trouble. She is. That’s why I was afraid she might strike you as being vacant.’
‘She is—but it’s rather attractive.’
‘Wait till you hear her speak…’
‘Now then, children,’ Sandra clapped her hands in such a schoolmistressish fashion that Lyn and Vicky exchanged amused glances. ‘Let’s get started. Show Miss Felton how much you’ve improved since she was here last.’
The onlookers paid little attention to the play, but watched Zillah Pendray closely. Her every movement made a picture, but her face was as strangely empty as a sleep walker’s. Then Sandra clapped her hands again.
‘No, no!’ she said, ‘I didn’t hear a word of that verse. Zillah, will you please say the words clearly, so that we can all hear them.’
Zillah obeyed. They were jingling and unimportant lines, in a play that was consciously ‘a charming play for children’, but as she spoke them they sounded like sheer poetry.
Lyn’s mouth fell open. ‘That voice…’ she whispered to Vicky, ‘and we’ve been pegging away at voice production all these years… And she’s got it naturally.’
‘And only a very slight accent—it’s amazing,’ Vicky agreed.
‘The next verse, Zillah, please,’ Sandra said. The girl looked at her levelly, then continued with a rather bored expression as though her thoughts were elsewhere.
‘Yes,’ said Sandra to the other children when Zillah had finished, ‘and now let us hear the words as clearly as that when you are singing.’
For the rest of the rehearsal Lyn’s head was in a whirl. She knew that she wanted to do something about this strangely talented girl, but did not quite know what.
‘It’s not right,’ she thought to herself, ‘that she should be wasted in a backwater like Polgarth. She’ll probably grow up and marry the blacksmith—if there is one—and that lovely voice and everything might just as well never have been. And yet, is it right to meddle in other people’s lives?’ At the same time she suffered a feeling of envy at meeting someone so well equipped for a career as an actress, but obviously without any idea of ever becoming one.
After the rehearsal was finished, Sandra called Zillah over to them. ‘I want you to meet Miss Halford and Miss Darwin. You weren’t here when they came last time, were you?’ The girl did not reply, but just inclined her head towards them in a manner of greeting.
‘Well, Zillah,’ said Lynette. ‘What are you going to do when you leave school?’
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘Help on your father’s farm, eh?’ said Miss Felton, trying to draw her out.
‘Perhaps so.’
‘Isn’t there anything else you’d like to do?’
A slight shade of life crept into the girl’s face. ‘Yes, miss, I’d like to go to Axminster—’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘And work in Woolly’s.’
They were flabbergasted, and did not know whether to laugh or shake her.
‘All right, off you go, Zillah,’ said Miss Felton, and they exchanged despairing looks.
‘To work in Woolworth’s…’ repeated Lyn in a dazed manner. ‘Why, it would be like—like seeing Helen of Troy in the Home and Colonial.’
‘I think that her parents will keep her at home,’ said Miss Felton, ‘if I have summed them up correctly.’
‘Well, it will be a wicked thing to do,’ said Lyn heatedly, ‘to waste that voice—and those looks—either on a lot of cows and pigs or behind a counter at Woolworth’s.’
‘Do you mean,’ said Vicky, ‘that she ought to be an actress?’
‘Of course I do. And that’s what made Sandra bring us to see her, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Sandra, ‘I suppose it was. But look here, we don’t know that she can act, do we? We’ve only heard her reciting those lines perfectly straightforwardly. There’s a difference between having a lovely voice and knowing how to act, isn’t there?’
‘Well,’ said Lynette, ‘how do we find out? Do you know, Miss Felton?’
‘No,’ she admitted ‘Zillah has always seemed so apathetic that I’ve never bothered to give her a decent part in anything. I’ve always chosen someone a little more vivacious.’
‘That’s the trouble,’ frowned Lyn. ‘She seems so vague—she might almost be half-witted.’
‘You can ask Miss Presto about her life, if you like,’ suggested Miss Felton, but all that the teacher could say was th
at Zillah was dull and inattentive, and her parents kept her at home whenever they thought they would.
As they drank their tea in the little drawing-room of the school house, their thoughts were full of what they could do to find out more about this strange and bewildering creature. Miss Felton was deep in conversation with the schoolmistress about plans for the expedition to Edinburgh, and she said to the girls, ‘Look, I shall be about another three-quarters of an hour if you want to go out and explore the village.’
‘Yes, perhaps we will—before it gets dark.’
Polgarth was a tiny little village consisting of one street and a few scattered houses that thinned out into wild and desolate countryside. Vicky and Sandra amused themselves by looking into the window of the one draper’s shop, where very ugly and old-fashioned garments were labelled with tickets that read Very Special and The Latest Thing. They were arguing over the merits of two particularly repulsive hats, one marked ‘très chic, fifteen and eleven’ and the other ‘à la mode, six and ninepence halfpenny,’ so Lynette wandered off down the road and soon found herself on the outskirts of the village. In the distance she could hear the sea washing against the cliffs so she quickened her pace, anxious to reach it. It was beginning to get dark, and a strong breeze blew against her. Then, quite suddenly, she found herself in view of the sea which lay below her, roaring and dashing against jagged rocks. She stood for a long time looking at the sea and the dark hurrying clouds, wondering how the boys were getting on in their search for Lucky, and then with a sigh turned to make her way back to the village. Then she stopped again, and peered into the distance along the cliff top to her left. A figure was standing on a flat boulder, pointing a finger out to sea, then turning and gesticulating, as if addressing a large crowd. Even before she was near enough to see clearly who it was, Lynette felt certain that she knew.
As she approached she saw that her feeling had been right. It was Zillah who stood on the flat piece of rock declaiming to an imaginary audience. She had taken her coat off and fastened it round her shoulders like a cloak, and the wind streamed her long hair out round her face. What it was that she was saying, Lynette could not hear for the sound of the waves and the wind, but she stared open-mouthed at the change that had come over the girl. Her cheeks were bright, her eyes flashed, and the changing expressions on her face were full of deep emotion. Drawing her cloak around her and turning seawards she suddenly saw Lyn, and stood transfixed. Then a slow blush spread over her face and she turned to run.
‘No, no. Don’t go! Zillah, come here a minute.’
Lynette hurried over the uneven rocky ground towards her. Zillah halted, and turned to look fearfully at her like a frightened animal. When Lynette found herself face to face with the girl she did not quite know what to say. They stood looking at each other, both rather out of breath from exertion in the strong wind. Then Zillah said rebelliously, ‘I’m not barmy—’
‘I didn’t think for a minute that you were. I was just—interested in what you were doing.’
Zillah hung her head, shamefaced. ‘It’s a game,’ she mumbled, then looked up defensively.
‘Oh, I know I’m too old for stuff like that—kids’ games, my Mum and Dad keep telling me—’
‘But I’m not telling you that,’ said Lynette eagerly. ‘I’m very interested. Why, I used to play pretence games until I was quite old—much older than you—until it turned into acting. But I was luckier than you. I had other people to play them with.’
‘I don’t want anyone else,’ said Zillah sulkily. ‘The other kids laugh at me. And everyone says I’m dull—’
‘So you go on with the games—inside your head—all the time, so that no-one knows—’
‘That’s right. But sometimes I break out, like today.’
‘Where do you live?’ asked Lyn. ‘I’ll walk with you.’ Zillah pointed to a grey farmhouse in the distance. ‘Over there.’ Lyn fell into step beside her.
‘You know, Zillah, where we were studying in London, they used to have one lesson that you’d have liked. It was called “Improvisation”. The teacher would give us some vague outline of a plot and we had to get up and act it, making up the lines as we went along. Now, what you were acting just now was the sort of thing that we used to do. What exactly was the plot of the scene you were doing?’
‘Well…’ Zillah began shyly, then stopped. ‘No, miss. You’ll laugh at me.’
‘To me it looked rather like a bit of King Lear.’
Zillah looked vague. ‘No, I wasn’t a king, I was a princess. And a lot of enemies had got hold of me and were going to throw me into the sea, and I was—I was just making a farewell speech,’ she finished up lamely.
‘Rather a good idea,’ said Lyn.
Suddenly the girl took hold of Lyn’s wrist, looked at her watch, then gave an exclamation of horror.
‘Oh, I’m behind again—my Mum will be raving…’ And she started to run.
‘Hey, Zillah! We’ll call round and see you tomorrow afternoon when you’ve got home from school.’
‘Oh…’ Zillah looked as though she wanted to say, ‘No, please don’t,’ but without a word she raced away. Lyn hurried back to the others and told them excitedly what had happened.
‘She was terrific,’ she said. ‘If only you could have seen her! She was completely un-self-conscious—and as full of life as you could imagine. I couldn’t hear what she was saying—it was probably rot—but she looked terrific! And with that voice—oh, gosh, we’ve made a discovery!’
‘But what can we do about it? Does she want to be an actress?’
‘Does she want to be? She is one—but she doesn’t know it. She calls it “playing” and is ashamed to enjoy anything so childish. Apparently her parents have tried to stamp it out of her. I’m going to see them tomorrow. Coming?’
‘Oh, we can’t,’ said Sandra. ‘What right have we to interfere?’
‘Listen,’ said Lyn. ‘We’re teaching down here, aren’t we? We run a theatre, don’t we? Or rather—didn’t we? And we’ve been to a dramatic school? Surely we should know if someone has got real talent or not. If you’d seen her this afternoon… At any rate, I’m calling there tomorrow, if only to see what her home surroundings are like.’
‘I’ll come too,’ said Vicky, ‘out of sheer curiosity. Come on, Sandra. It’ll be fun.’
Sandra shook her head pessimistically. ‘I think it will prove rather sticky.’
The next afternoon, a little while after Polgarth school had turned out, the three girls walked resolutely towards the farmhouse that Zillah had indicated. As they drew nearer, they saw that it was a grey rambling building, surrounded by sheds and outhouses.
‘Looks rather a dreary sort of place, doesn’t it?’ observed Lyn.
‘I always thought it would be rather nice to live on a farm,’ said Vicky.
When they knocked on the highly polished brass door knocker it echoed hollowly through the house. Zillah answered it, looking rather scared.
‘We’ve come to see you,’ said Lynette.
‘Yes,’ said Zillah rather tremulously. ‘You’d better come in.’ She showed them into a spotlessly clean drawing-room where every antimacassar was snowy white, and the potted ferns in the window were arranged in meticulous rows. It was the most un-lived-in room they had ever seen.
‘I bet this is only used for weddings and funerals,’ observed Sandra. Then Zillah’s mother came in. She was a pale-faced woman, wearing an old-fashioned black dress, and with a frightened expression. She looked at the three girls as though she had never seen anything like them before. Zillah lurked behind her in the doorway.
Lyn rose and held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Mrs Pendray. I do hope that you don’t mind us descending on you like this.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ murmured Mrs Pendray, taking Lyn’s hand and nodding nervously at the other two.
‘You see,’ went on Lyn, ‘I had a talk with Zillah yesterday, and well—we’ve all been very interested in her a
fter seeing her in the school play, so we thought we’d like to come and see you about her.’
‘Not been getting into any trouble at the school, has she?’
‘Oh, no! And we’re hardly in a position to care, if she had. You see, Mrs Pendray, we’re not teachers, we’re actresses really’—Mrs Pendray looked at them uncomfortably, as if Lyn had said something embarrassing—‘and that is why we’re interested in your daughter.’
‘Ay, she’s a good-looking lass, I know.’ Mrs Pendray seemed stung into life. ‘But we don’t want her head filled with a lot of nonsense. She’s a difficult enough child as it is—lazy and slummocky—and as idle as they come. So if it’s for this acting business you’re wanting her, miss, I’ll tell you straightways her dad and I won’t hear of her doing any more of it. Gallivanting off to Edinburgh, indeed! There’s enough to do about this place to keep six women busy, let alone the two of us. All this schooling takes up the girl’s time. Why, she’s nigh on fourteen now, and at her age I was running a home and looking after nine little brothers and sisters…’ She had to stop for breath.
‘My goodness! Were you really?’ said Lynette. ‘That must have been quite a handful. But your daughter is very clever too, Mrs Pendray. Only in a different way.’
Mrs Pendray sniffed. ‘First I’ve heard of it. All the other teachers say she’s dull.’
‘She has a very beautiful voice.’
‘Beautiful voice? Why, she can’t keep in tune for two minutes.’
‘I mean a speaking voice. And she has looks and imagination. And those are very important things—if you’re going to be an actress.’
Mrs Pendray looked round at the three of them in horrified amazement. ‘Do you mean—for life?’
Lyn smiled at the phrasing. ‘Yes, Mrs Pendray, for life. For a living.’
