Applause (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 2)

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘You won’t be with me if you’re touring aerodromes and army camps with ENSA.’

  Margot plonked herself down on the settee and, with a face like thunder, glared into the fire.

  Bill sat next to her. ‘So,’ he said with a sigh, ‘what’s the plan?’

  ‘We’re going to see Basil Dean. See if we can support some of the acts,’ she said without emotion. ‘We don’t want to steal anyone’s thunder; we just want to keep our hand in until the theatre reopens. Please say you understand, Bill?’ she pleaded.

  Bill shook his head. ‘You’ll do what you want, Margot, you always do. I’m going for a walk to clear my head.’

  ‘What did Bill say?’ Margot’s mother asked from the doorway, seconds after he’d left.

  ‘You know what he said.’ Margot glared at her mother who stood red faced. ‘Sorry, that wasn’t fair. He doesn’t want me to join ENSA, he thinks it’s too soon.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Margot watched as Bess pulled a Fair Isle jersey over her head. Then, looking in the mirror above the fireplace in the sitting room, she brushed her hair. Holding her thick auburn curls in the nape of her neck with one hand, and a ribbon in the other, she chopped and changed hands until she had tied the ribbon securely. Then she folded a headscarf corner to corner, and after floating the floral triangle over her head, tied it under her chin.

  ‘How do you do it, Bess?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Hold it all together?’ Looking at her sister’s reflection in the mirror, Margot saw a combination of strength and sadness in her eyes. She didn’t reply. Instead she busied herself by tucking stray curls under her scarf. ‘You work on the estate, organise the land girls, keep the farmers happy – and if you’re lucky you get an hour to yourself to exercise your horse. And what about the servicemen up at the Hall, and James--’

  ‘The servicemen are not my responsibility. As for James, I promised him I would look after his estate, and that is what I’m doing. I also made a commitment to the Ministry of Agriculture to turn Foxden Estate into arable land, and that is what I’ve done. And I shall keep doing it until this damn war is over.’ Bess turned and walked across the room to the hall door. ‘I keep busy, Margot,’ she said pointedly. ‘And talking of keeping busy--’

  ‘Which I wasn’t,’ Margot said.

  Bess wiped a tear from her cheek and at the same time laughed at her sister. ‘Why don’t you come up to the Hall with me? Meet the boys in the hospital wing? They know my sister, the famous Margot Dudley, is here and they keep asking me when you’re coming up.’ Wrinkling her nose, Margot bit her bottom lip. ‘I know you don’t like hospitals,’ Bess said, ‘but the lads aren’t ill. They’re at Foxden to convalesce. Most of them don’t even need medical treatment. They’re recovering from pneumonia or shell shock. A couple have lost limbs, and our old friend Frank Donnelly has lost an eye, but there’s nothing unpleasant to see. And they’re all in good spirits.’

  ‘Right.’ Margot said. ‘I’m coming up!’

  ‘Atta girl! I’ll wait for you.’

  ‘No. I need to do my hair and put on some decent clothes if I’m going to meet my public,’ she said, laughing. ‘I can’t have the friends of my clever sister seeing me like this, can I?’

  Margot popped in to see Foxden’s housekeeper and cook, Mrs Hartley, and swapped her wellingtons for shoes. While she was there she checked her appearance in the mirror hanging in Mrs Hartley’s washroom. Dark rings under her eyes made her look tired. She felt a hundred years old. Fishing in her handbag she found her make-up. After patting rouge on her cheeks and applying red lipstick she looked and felt much better.

  It was raining when she left the kitchen, so she kept her head down and walked quickly. She hadn’t worn shoes with heels for what seemed like an age. Every time she put her foot to the ground a sharp pain stabbed at her ankle, so she slowed down and walked more carefully. After mounting the steps to Foxden Hall’s main entrance, she leant against a pillar to steady her nerves. Could she do this; could she put on a smile and be Margot Dudley?

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ah!’ She spun round. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘Sorry.’ A young soldier stepped from behind the pillar. He threw down his cigarette and put his hands up. ‘I’m Sid,’ he said. ‘Bess told me to come and find you.’

  ‘Margot! How do you do?’

  Sid opened the door and stood back to let Margot enter. She followed him across the marble hall. Except for the floor to ceiling blackout curtains, it looked pretty much the same as it had the last time she was there, before the war. Sid opened the door to the ballroom and ushered her in. As soon as they caught sight of her, the boys began to whistle and cheer. She was amazed to see so many soldiers, sailors and airmen. Some were in beds along the walls, others were in armchairs in the bay windows – and they were all clapping and smiling. She took a few steps into the room and they cheered again. She laughed, put her hands up as if in a prayer and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’ One of the boys approached her on crutches. ‘I play the piano, Miss Dudley. Would you sing for us?’

  Margot turned too quickly and went over on her already painful ankle. The boy’s request had taken her by surprise. Her stomach lurched. She was out of practice. She didn’t know whether she could do it. She looked around the room and found Bess. ‘I want to meet you all first.’

  ‘Over here, Miss Dudley,’ several of the lads shouted at the same time. ‘No, over here.’ Margot waved to the lads on the left side of the room as she walked over to Bess on the right. ‘We’ll start at the beginning,’ Bess said, steering Margot to the first bed inside the door, where she received more applause.

  Margot shook the hands of the soldiers and answered their questions; questions that she had been asked a hundred times before…. ‘What is it like being famous? How can you live in a place like London? Aren’t you scared you’ll be bombed in your bed? Do you drink champagne every night? What does your husband think about you singing and dancing in a West End show? Is he jealous because you’re a pin up?’

  Margot burst out laughing. ‘Me? A pin up? I’ve never been a pin up. Betty Grable’s a--’ She stopped mid-sentence as two lads unrolled a poster of her in a skimpy two-piece swimming costume. ‘Good Lord, I am a pin up!’ she laughed. ‘Did you ever think the scrawny little sister that you gave your pocket money to so she could have dance lessons at Woodcote village hall would one day be a pin up, Bess?’

  Laughing, Bess said, ‘If I’d have thought about it at the time, I probably would. There wasn’t anything you couldn’t do when you put your mind to it, Margot.’

  Margot was gracious and honest, and answered all the servicemen’s questions. She stood at the side of every bed and talked to every patient. She then went over to the bay window and sat and chatted to the lads who were further along in their recovery.

  ‘Sid will play for you, Margot, if you’ll sing for the boys.’

  Margot stuttered, ‘I, I don’t know Bess. I haven’t-- since Nancy--’

  ‘All the more reason to sing now, I’d have thought, while you’re among friends.’ Bess paused and then said, ‘You’re a professional, Margot, so what about it?’ She walked away and then turned back to her sister. ‘I’m sorry, Margot, that was unfair. You must do what’s best for you. If you don’t want to sing the boys will be disappointed, but they’ll understand. I think it would do you good. But what do I know? Perhaps you’ve lost it.’

  ‘Lost it? Of course I haven’t lost it!’

  ‘I didn’t mean lost it, exactly. But you do hear about people who have gone through a traumatic experience losing their voice.’

  ‘I’m not people, Bess! I’m Margot Dudley. I may not be anyone important to you, but I am to my fans. And if I can please these boys, these poor boys, I will!’

  Bess put her arms round her sister. ‘I love you, Margot Dudley. You may be a West End star, but you’ll always be my contrary little sister.’

  ‘And you’ll always b
e my clever big sister who knows me far too well. I can’t get away with anything around you, our Bess!’

  ‘No you can’t! Besides, I want to hear you sing as much as they do. You’d like to hear Margot sing, wouldn’t you lads?’

  Everyone cheered and Margot put her hands up, which made them cheer even louder. Eventually, when they were quiet, Margot said, in a loud and uplifting voice, ‘Right boys, what do you want to hear?’

  So many song titles were called out at the same time that Bess stepped in. ‘Since none of you can agree, Margot will decide on the song, and Sid will play it.’ That seemed to satisfy them. After a couple of able-bodied servicemen pushed the piano into the middle of the room so everyone could see Margot, she sang “The Boogie Woogie Blues”.

  Sid could hardly keep up with her. As soon as she finished one song the boys called for another. Halfway through the evening a young soldier sang “Kiss Me Goodnight Sergeant Major” to give Margot a break. After a cup of tea Margot gargled with port and went back to the ballroom. She began the second part of the evening with “The Lambeth Walk” from the West End musical Me and My Girl, which the lads sang with her, followed by “I’ll See You Again” from Noel Coward’s Bitter Sweet. Physically tired, but with adrenalin pumping through her veins as it had the first time she sang at the Prince Albert Club, Margot took her final bow. It was ten o’clock. She promised to return the following evening.

  The next morning she telephoned Natalie Goldman from Woodcote post office. Natalie was well and eager for news of her three children, whom Bess had taken to Foxden as evacuees. Margot wanted news of the Prince Albert Theatre and asked how her friends in the company and backstage were faring. They were all well and wanted to get back to work. Anton was at the theatre, overseeing the building work that everyone thought would be completed before Christmas. However, after the recent bombing of the Aldwych and Fleet Street, London’s builders were stretched to the limit. Demolishing unsafe buildings and making safe public buildings took priority over repairing theatres. Recent delays meant the refurbishment of the Prince Albert Theatre would not be completed in time for the advertised Christmas Show. It was more likely to be early 1943 before the Prince Albert’s doors opened again.

  Margot asked the exchange to connect her to another London telephone number, and a few minutes later she was speaking to her friends and fellow dancers, George and Betsy.

  That evening, Margot told the servicemen that she would soon be returning to London. ‘After my friends were killed and I’d spent what felt like an age in hospital, I didn’t want to go back to the theatre. The truth was I didn’t know whether I could still do it. Losing my friend Nancy, the leading lady at the Prince Albert and my mentor, was too much to bear. But,’ she said, looking at each of the servicemen in turn, ‘you have inspired me with your bravery and strength of character. I was going to give up everything I had worked for, but not any more. You are all determined to get on with your lives. Well, thanks to you, I am going back to London to get on with mine.’

  Cheers and humorous complaints drowned Margot’s words. ‘And,’ she said when the racket had died down, ‘along with two of my friends from the theatre, I am going to join ENSA. And,’ Margot put her arms around Bess and stopped talking until the lads stopped whooping and whistling, ‘it is thanks to my sister Bess that I am able to sing again. So,’ Margot put her finger to her lips and the room quietened. “Thanks for the memory…”’ As she sang the servicemen joined in.

  When they’d finished someone shouted, ‘If ENSA stands for every night’s something awful, will you come back to us, Margot?’

  ‘No!’ she said, laughing, ‘Not if you’re going to be rude. We, the Albert Sisters, will be touring aerodromes, army bases, and factories, starting on Friday at the Foundry in Lowarth. And on Saturday night there is going to be a special concert here at Foxden Hall. Thank you!’ She left the hospital wing to the sound of cheers and calls for more, followed by a rendition of “For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow”.

  Forgetting her ankle, Margot ran across the platform as Betsy leapt from the train. Hugging each other, the two friends squealed with delight. George waved briefly from the train’s open door before calling the porter to help her haul two large suitcases from the corridor onto the platform.

  ‘Costumes!’ George shouted, abandoning the cases when they were safely off the train, and joining Betsy and Margot.

  When they had finished greeting each other, Margot remembered Bess was with her. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘This is my sister Bess. Bess, meet George Derby-Bloom and Betsy Evans, my best friends from the theatre.’

  ‘How do you do, Bess?’ George said.

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ Betsy added.

  Before Bess could reply, George said, ‘And this is Artie.’

  Putting the two black cases he was carrying on the ground, he shook Bess’s hand. ‘Artie Armitage, at your disposal.’

  Margot’s mouth fell open at the sight of the Prince Albert Theatre’s night watchman. ‘Arthur – I mean Artie. How nice to see you. I didn’t recognise you out of uniform.’ Artie held the lapels of his coat and waddled like Charlie Chaplin. They all laughed. Margot looked at George, her eyes wide and questioning.

  ‘Our pianist,’ George said.

  Margot shook Artie’s hand and looked at the case at his feet. ‘Small piano.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd, darling, that’s Artie’s accordion. The other is his banjo.’

  ‘Of course. Silly me!’

  ‘Before the war Artie was a piano tuner and teacher. So, being too old for the services – sorry darling,’ George said, ‘when the children were evacuated and the upper classes stopped spending money having their pianos tuned, Artie came to work at the Prince Albert. Working as a night watchman gave him time to practise his music during the day.’

  ‘You weren’t the only one watching the shows from the wings, Miss,’ he said to Margot. ‘I was there too, on the other side of the stage.’

  ‘And we’re jolly pleased you were, darling.’ George turned her attention to Margot. ‘So my dear, Artie plays accordion and banjo, and he tickles the ivories superbly. He knows every number from the show and all the popular songs. Isn’t he wonderful?’

  Margot nodded. ‘Yes, except we don’t have a piano. There’s a grand at the Hall, but Lady Foxden would never agree to it leaving the estate. We can use it for the show we do for the lads in the hospital wing, but our first public performance is in a factory in Lowarth – and we need to rehearse.’

  ‘The village hall at Woodcote has a piano,’ Bess said.

  Margot threw her arms around her sister and kissed her. ‘Bess, you’re a genius! Why didn’t I think of that?’

  George, Betsy and Artie looked from Margot to Bess. ‘Woodcote is just down the road from Foxden. I’m sure you’ll be able to use the piano. I might even know someone who will transport it to Lowarth for you. Especially if it’s professionally tuned after you’ve done with it,’ she said, winking at Artie. ‘Apart from Home Guard meetings, the hall’s rarely used. I’ll check with my father, see if it’s free for a couple of days. If it is you’ve got a rehearsal room.’ Bess looked at her wristwatch. ‘We’d better make a move.’

  George picked up the larger of the two cases as Bess picked up the other.

  ‘How are we going to fit everything into your car?’ Betsy asked.

  ‘I thought we’d put my sister on the roof,’ Bess said.

  Margot rolled her eyes. ‘Very funny! Mr Porter, who works with Bess on the estate, is here with the farm truck.’

  ‘I didn’t know how much luggage you’d have, so I thought it best to bring back-up.’

  ‘My sister thinks of everything.’

  ‘Not quite everything. I didn’t think about sleeping arrangements for Artie.’

  ‘You didn’t know about Artie. I didn’t know about Artie.’

  ‘That’s true!’

  On the way to Foxden, George told Margot how her father had written to Basil D
ean, the director of ENSA, at the Drury Lane theatre. ‘He’s seeing people on Tuesday,’ she said.

  ‘Tuesday? Next Tuesday?’ Margot said.

  ‘Yes, but if you think it’s too soon. If your ankle’s still--’

  ‘No! No, my ankle’s fine.’ Margot’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Her eyes felt moist and there was a stinging sensation at the back of them, but there were no tears.

  ‘This is it, ladies,’ Bess said, pulling into the cobbled quadrangle at Foxden Hall behind Mr Porter and Artie. ‘I expect you’re hungry,’ she said, jumping out of the car. Mr Porter took the cases from the back of the truck and carried them into Mrs Hartley’s kitchen. Bess and the London visitors followed.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Foxden’s cook and housekeeper said, ambling across the large kitchen. ‘Kettle’s on, so if you want to take your cases upstairs, Margot will show you where your rooms are. Oh, and the Goldman children have been in and out of here all day. They’re so excited about seeing you. ‘Course they’re too polite to say, but I think they’re hoping you’ve got presents for them.’

  ‘We have!’ Betsy said. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Doing sums and such like in the old nursery with their nanny and nurse. Margot will show you where to go, won’t you my duck?’ Margot nodded and took one of Betsy’s bags. ‘I’ll have tea on the table by the time you come down.’

  Foxden’s guests picked up their belongings and followed Margot, while Bess and Mr Porter headed for the door. ‘I’m going to the stables to check on the horses,’ Bess said. ‘Won’t be long.’ Mr Porter, nearest to the door, opened it and was almost knocked over as the land girls piled in.

  By the time they returned to the kitchen the land girls and the Londoners were seated round the big wooden table drinking tea and eating muffins.

  ‘I see introductions aren’t needed,’ Bess said to Margot, who was watching Mrs Hartley test the dumplings in the stew.

  ‘Can’t get a word in edgeways,’ Margot said.