Kitty Little

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’ll not breathe a word. Oh, you poor love.’ Charlotte’s mind was racing, noting the depth of pinched misery on Kitty’s expressive face, the paleness of her skin, the bleakness in her eyes; calculating, observing, playing with possibilities.

  Kitty, finding herself discovered and unable to deny the truth almost sobbed out loud. ‘You won’t tell him?’

  ‘Course not, what d’you take me for? So that’s why Esme’s hanging back, because she reckons you have first call on his affections, being the boss.’

  Kitty hastily explained about their pact and Charlotte sadly shook her head.

  ‘Ah, that explains a good deal,’ she murmured sympathetically, almost wanting to laugh out loud at her own cleverness. ‘I’m sorry to say that you’re the loser. Told me he’s been like a brother to you, since you lost your own. That’s how he thinks of you, as his dear little sister.’

  ‘Sister!’ Kitty’s tone was bleak, for all she recognised the truth of Charlotte’s words.

  ‘It’s Esme who Archie loves. No doubt about that. Plain as the nose on your face. He virtually admitted as much to me the other night.’ Charlotte felt perfectly safe devising this fiction, since she didn’t believe Kitty had the courage to challenge Archie about it.

  ‘He did?’ Kitty’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  ‘Worships the ground she walks on but reckons she’d think he were too old for her. How blind can a chap be. Men! If he knew how she truly felt, there’d be no holding him, eh?’

  Neither of them spoke for some long moments. Kitty sat with her arms wrapped tight about her knees, hardly able to breathe, the pain in her chest was so overpowering. Charlotte wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t already suspected. Though it hurt to have it confirmed, she must face the truth. Archie didn’t love her, not like a man should. He never had. She should be pleased for Esme, that she at least had a real chance of happiness. Tears were rolling unchecked down her cheeks and Charlotte was putting her arms around her, drawing her close as if she truly cared and was not, in fact, the cause of them.

  ‘Who needs men eh? More trouble than they’re worth.’

  ‘I’ll not stand in her way,’ Kitty sobbed. ‘I promised her.’

  ‘Here, have a good blow.’ Charlotte handed Kitty a large silk handkerchief, far too fine to actually use. ‘As for our differences, well, I may not be as practical as you, or as capable but I’ll pull me weight in other ways when the tour starts, see if I don’t. Till then, I’ll try to do better on the work front, I promise.’

  Kitty looked into those bewitching eyes glistening with moist sympathy and felt a sudden rush of warmth for this diminutive, fiery figure. Perhaps she’d entirely misjudged her. Perhaps Charlotte wasn’t half as selfish and greedy as she’d imagined. All the time she’d been thinking of Esme, not herself. Archie was right. The girl clearly knew what it was to suffer, and that’s why she was so kind and understanding. Leaning forward, Kitty kissed her on the cheek. ‘Friends?’

  Charlotte blinked, looking faintly stunned as if no one had ever done such a thing before. ‘Aye. Why not, eh? Friends.’

  Two days to go before the start of the tour and Esme’s role of mechanic’s mate had been superseded by that of assistant wardrobe mistress to Mrs Pips, who set her darning holes in stockings which would be needed by the men in the Shakespeare.

  ‘Though I don’t hold with chaps in women’s clothing,’ Mrs Pips muttered through a mouthful of pins, her thin face looking quite pink and not half so disapproving as she sounded. ‘They don’t have the legs for one thing.’

  Giggling, Esme allowed herself to be pressed into service as a model for various dresses which needed pinning and tacking up. Kitty then sent her dashing to the post office with another bunch of letters, for which purpose Felicity Fanshaw kindly loaned her bike. On her return she painted scenery, fashioned spears and shields for the halberdiers and any number of other jobs, of which she quite lost count.

  Smiling fondly at her friend’s obvious enthusiasm, Kitty drew back into the shadows of the barn as Esme hurried past bearing an armful of linen. It was there that Archie found her. ‘We never did finish our talk.’ His voice, soft in her ear, making her jump, and she scolded him for creeping up on her.

  He slid one arm about her slender waist to pull her close against him. ‘Are we still friends? I recall a time when you were not so unwilling to have me near. Could you be avoiding me, my sweet, when all I desire is to recreate those magic moments we once enjoyed.’

  His fingers were caressing her cheek, his breath soft against her cheek and Kitty felt bathed in a hot panic. Had she not known otherwise, she would have sworn he was genuine, but this was simply an example of Archie’s droll wit.

  She managed to laugh up at him. ‘Can’t you see that I’m desperately trying to prepare every last detail in time for first night, which is less than two days off in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘You might at least apologise.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Kitty. Don’t be obtuse. Are you telling me that you believed all that nonsense you were saying about Charlotte?’

  ‘Well, yes, I did think it true at the time, but perhaps I was a bit hard on her.’

  ‘Ah, a degree of sympathy at last. Now we’ve got that out of the way, what about us? Or are you too busy playing the famous director to find time for an old friend these days? I mean, a chap has needs, don’t you know, and you’ve neglected me for far too long.’

  Kitty stared at him, dumbfounded. What was he saying? Charlotte said that it was Esme he loved and wanted, so she mustn’t take his words too literally. He was simply teasing her and she must remember to keep to their pact. She pushed him away, her laughter now high-pitched, sounding unnatural even to her own ears. ‘If you’ve so much redundant energy, go and help Esme with those curtains for goodness sake, but keep out of my way.’ As she marched off across the courtyard, Archie called after her.

  ‘Why must you always be so damned bossy, Miss Kitty Little?’

  Hearing his voice, Charlotte hurried out just in time to see Kitty slam the barn door shut behind her. Smiling to herself, she crossed the yard to comfort the now glowering Archie, for wasn’t her little scheme working just beautifully?

  As if to prove his words, Kitty pushed in several extra rehearsals, putting the company through its paces, insisting they go over and over a scene until it was polished to perfection. There was no question but that they needed all the rehearsal time they could squeeze in. This was what she’d dreamed of for so long and now that the moment had arrived, she couldn’t allow herself to relax for a second, for that way lay failure. Besides, wouldn’t it also give her too much time to think? Even when Suzy suggested she might be overdoing it, Kitty merely increased the work schedule.

  ‘Full dress rehearsal at two, and please make sure you know your lines.’

  This was what was important. Nothing else mattered.

  Kitty told herself firmly that she could manage perfectly well without a man. Which law stated that a woman had to be married before she could bring up a child? It might be considered morally shocking but all this conventional nonsense about marriage being an honourable estate was all very splendid but you had to cope with life as it was presented to you, not as some romantic ideal. She’d never been interested in domesticity and servitude before, so why start now?

  Because she loved him of course. Because her body ached for him. Not for a moment could she get the image of dear Archie out of her head. Yet if Esme was to be his choice then it behoved her not to spoil things for them. What was to be gained by forcing a man into fatherhood and marriage? Nothing.

  Charlotte was observing Kitty closely, noting the tired lines beneath the eyes, the way she sometimes put her hand to her aching back or stomach when she thought no one was looking. If Kitty carried another secret, the sooner Charlotte prised it out of her, the better. It could prove most useful in her cam
paign.

  She went to her and, gently remarking on how tired she was looking, suggested that since this was their last day they cancel the afternoon rehearsal as they all deserved some time off before the start of their first tour. ‘We could go shopping, have tea. Maybe try the flicks?’

  ‘An excellent idea,’ Esme agreed. ‘I could do with a break.’

  Kitty conceded that perhaps an afternoon off would do them all good.

  Rod and Sam declared their intention of going for a long hike. Felicity and Suzy were to take turns on the bicycle and make their way to Hawkeshead for afternoon tea of gingerbread and rum butter. Jacob buried his head in the newspaper in case he should be required to do anything energetic and Tessa opted for a long hot bath to nurse a cold she was quite certain was coming on. Archie and Reg were happy to spend the afternoon polishing the Jowett, which had been tuned and tinkered into as near a perfect condition as it was capable of.

  ‘While we can wallow in sentiment, weep at Mary Pickford, or laugh at Fatty Arbuckel,’ Esme said, round cheeks pink with the anticipated pleasure.

  In the end they sat nibbling Fry’s chocolate bars, listening to the warbling sounds of a tinny piano as they watched some third rate fantasy about a poor girl who’d lost touch with civilisation. She was discovered by a jungle explorer who carried her off to supposedly have his wicked way with her, though this was barely hinted at. Then instead of returning to New York where she could enjoy theatres and nice frocks, opted instead to remain in the back of beyond with lover-boy.

  It was so utterly ridiculous that the three girls came out clinging to each other, weak with laughter.

  ‘What must she have been thinking of?’ Charlotte cried. ‘It would be like a living death, all that heat and jungle and creepy-crawlies.’ She shuddered. ‘Can’t these picture magnates come up with anything more realistic than comic book nonsense?’

  ‘But he clearly adored her,’ Esme reminded them. ‘And he was something of a matinee idol. Would that real life could be so tidily arranged.’

  ‘Came the dawn the two lovers walked off together into the sunset,’ Charlotte quoted from the subtitles, clutching her heart with pseudo-anguish and then flinging her arms out in such a parody of the actor’s movements that they all doubled up with laughter again.

  They climbed aboard the bus to take them back to Repstone, deeply involved in an argument about whether the cinema really would damage the theatre. Charlotte believed that it would, while Kitty resolutely argued that customers who went twice a week to a picture house would also be keen to see live theatre, given the opportunity. ‘Which is why we’re starting a theatre company,’ she announced, as she flopped into a seat. ‘Oh fizz, where are the dratted return tickets,’ and began searching through her pockets and in her bag, so she could show them to the conductor when he came round.

  Esme, on quite a different tack said, ‘Perhaps being in love is more important than any of this new materialism. Perhaps that’s what the picture was trying to tell us.’

  ‘Give up everything for love, you mean?’ Charlotte scorned, pursing her lips as she applied fresh lipstick. ‘What utter rubbish. How would they live? I certainly couldn’t. I’m a gel who likes her comforts.’

  ‘We’d noticed,’ Kitty drily remarked, still rummaging.

  ‘Tickets please.’ The conductor was upon them and Kitty, on her feet by this time, was growing frantic, begging the others to check pockets and bags as she couldn’t find them anywhere.

  ‘Then you’ll have to pay again, love,’ said the conductor with a cheery grin.

  ‘We’ve just spent all our money,’ Esme moaned, insisting Kitty hand her the bag so she could look, while Charlotte batted her eyelashes at the conductor. The contents of Kitty’s bag were strewn all about the seat. No ticket. A thorough search of every pocket again produced the same result.

  ‘I’ll have to put you off,’ the conductor warned.

  ‘Oh come on, be a sport,’ Charlotte wheedled. ‘It’s late and we’re a long way from home.’

  ‘That’s naught to do wi’ me. I’m only doing me job.’

  ‘Put a truncheon in yer hand, and you’d be the spitting image of those daft Keystone Cops that were on before the big picture.’

  A ding-ding of his bell and within minutes the three girls found themselves standing on the side of the road, gazing at each other in horror as the bus trundled off into the night without them.

  ‘Thanks for being so helpful, Charlotte dear,’ Kitty drily remarked.

  ‘How far is it?’

  ‘About three miles.’

  The short winter day was already growing dark with a fitful moon floating in and out behind streaks of cloud, the lane quite deserted. Somewhere an owl hooted, making Charlotte shiver.

  ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘You shouldn’t have annoyed him by comparing him with Buster Keaton’s “daft cops”.’

  ‘My charms must be slipping.’

  Esme said, ‘Best foot forward girls.’

  Arm in arm they strode out, giggling as much at their predicament as over the picture.

  Perhaps it was the loneliness of the country road with its eerie rustlings and strange hoots and calls, the brooding mountains seeming to close in on them as they reared up like a black ridge against the pale moonlight, or because this was the first time they’d spent so long alone in each other’s company. Or perhaps the fun they’d enjoyed together that day, a little shopping (mainly of the look and dream variety), tea and a sticky bun, followed by first house at the pictures, had drawn the three girls closer. Whatever the reason, they were soon exchanging confidences.

  Charlotte was giving a riotous, if carefully edited version of her love life which neglected to make any mention of a husband, and seemed to involve any number of encounters with ardent young men all desperate to deprive her of her virtue.

  ‘You didn’t succumb, did you?’ Esme asked in shocked tones, and then blushed furiously as she realised the impertinence of the question. ‘Sorry. You don't answer if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I’ve no secrets from my friends,’ Charlotte grandly and inaccurately assured them. ‘This is the modern world, darling. A new dawn with Victorian England dead and buried.’

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, you are a caution,’ Esme chuckled.

  ‘I never give owt to a man that I can’t easily part with,’ she finished rather enigmatically, and winked. ‘Right. It’s someone else’s turn now. What about you? Tell us your dark secrets, Esme. Or is the daughter of a parson above such earthly desires as sex and love?’ Charlotte probed, giving a wicked little chuckle.

  Embarrassment fired Esme’s face as images of her father reared in her mind. ‘It isn’t funny. Being a parson’s daughter doesn’t cut you off from the real world, nor from sin.’

  ‘True. Even parsons do IT, I suppose. Otherwise how would you be here?’

  If anything the crimson deepened, all too cruelly highlighted by the moon which chose to sail out in full glory at precisely that moment, revealing the depth of her discomfiture.

  Kitty put her arm about her friend’s shoulders, throwing Charlotte a silent glare to leave the topic be. ‘It’s all right, Esme. We’ve all gone a bit silly over watching that daft picture and getting thrown off the bus. I’m sure Charlotte didn’t mean to offend.’

  ‘As if I would?’ Charlotte sounded genuinely contrite and gave Esme’s hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘All mouth, that’s me. Anyway, you can tell us. We’re your very best friends.’

  As Esme remained mute, walking along with shoulders hunched and chin sunk into her chest, the other two girls exchanged puzzled glances. Neither had the heart to press her further, for it was plain to them both in that moment, that Esme did indeed have a secret. One she had no wish to tell.

  ‘Right, now it’s Kitty’s turn. Tell us your life story. Have you any dark secrets?’ Charlotte half glanced at Kitty’s all too eloquent features, at the way her hand crept protectively to her waist. This was what she’d been ca
refully leading up to and not for a moment would she let this one go. ‘Lord above, you’ve got one too. Go on, spill the beans.’

  Kitty studied herself in the mirror. Ignoring the huge brown eyes brimming with tears she examined her profile. There was still no obvious sign beyond a slight thickening of her waist line; far too thin for a woman in a delicate condition. Perhaps she had indeed been working too hard and should take more care. That’s what Esme and Charlotte had both said.

  Perhaps letting her friends into her secret had been a good thing, something of a relief, for she couldn’t deny she was going to need their support in the months ahead. Yet it had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Each had been astonished, even shocked, in their different ways and urged her to see a doctor. Esme had generously volunteered to go with her and Kitty of course had sworn them both to secrecy, trusting them not to breathe a word to a soul.

  It felt almost as if the baby were a ticking clock, marking off the hours of her freedom, as if it were about to explode and destroy her.

  Since it was generally known that Kitty had once been engaged, they’d assumed that Frank was the father. What harm could it do? She was never likely to see him again. And there was little point now in Archie learning that the child was his and feeling obliged to marry her, when really it wasn’t Kitty he loved at all, but Esme.

  Determined to make her sacrifice worthwhile and keep their friendship intact, Kitty dashed away the tears of self pity and went to find Esme where she was scribbling more letters in the small sitting room, evidently anxious not to allow the LTP’s to rest on their laurels. Without hesitation, so as to give herself no time for regrets, Kitty blurted out what Charlotte had informed her the other morning on the stairs: that it was she who Archie loved, but that he was nervous of approaching her because of the difference in their ages.

  Esme stared at Kitty unblinking through round spectacles. ‘I-I’m not sure I understand.’