Fragile Wings

by Rebecca S. Buck

  “No. I’m going early to my dressmaker and I made an appointment to have my hair cut too. This evening I’ve been invited to drinks with an old friend from school, in Kensington, so I’m just not sure when I’ll be home. Looks like it’ll just be you and my darling brother.” Lilian smiled and Evelyn was sure there was something implied by that smile that made her uncomfortable.

  “I hope Grace isn’t expecting me at a certain time,” Evelyn said. “I’m not sure when I’ll be home.” The idea of an evening alone in the house with James was suddenly uncomfortable to her. If nothing else, it was possible she could claim to have eaten elsewhere and avoid sitting at the dining table with him.

  “I think she’s just planning to prepare some salad and cold cuts, so you needn’t worry about the time. Although, really, how long can you possibly spend poking around in a theatre?” Lilian laughed but Evelyn did not join her.

  “I don’t know, but I expect it will be very interesting,” she replied.

  Lilian’s smile faded. “Hmm, wouldn’t be for me. But I suppose it’s horses for courses, isn’t it? I hope you have a lovely afternoon, darling.” She gave Evelyn a quick pat on the arm and then made her way up the stairs.

  “Thank you, you too,” Evelyn called after her, before retreating into the sitting room where she sought the newspaper to help occupy the time until she needed to leave the house.

  *

  Evelyn enjoyed the walk through the London streets. Already there were familiar landmarks, and already the sounds and smells of the sprawling city were nothing surprising. Walking a short distance along these streets did not feel at all adventurous now. Though she loved London, the pavements were a means to an end, taking her to meet Jos.

  As she walked, Evelyn paid little attention to her surroundings. Although she had planned to absorb and remember every detail of her first independent day in London, the motor buses and shopfronts seemed to simply drift by in a blur. Beyond checking the street names to be sure she was still walking in the right direction, Evelyn barely noticed the shapes and colours around her. She thought of Jos, with some apprehension. Outside of the rareified world of the Yellow Orchid, how would it be to meet with Jos? What would they talk about? Would she still feel so compelled by her? And if she did, what did it mean? Was it possible for someone like her to act on such feelings? If Jos did not return them, how would she feel? The thoughts, not clearly articulated, occupied the whole of Evelyn’s consciousness. She was at the theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue a full fifteen minutes early, scarce able to remember the route she’d taken to get there.

  Uncomfortable at the idea of trying to get into the theatre and disturbing Jos before the appointed time, Evelyn contented herself with examining the facade of the red-brick building, probably built midway through the last century. A flight of broad steps led to the row of dark wood doors, with flawless glass panels and brass fixtures. Above each door was an ornate wrought-iron framework, supporting a stained glass canopy, which sent a rainbow of colour onto the top steps. Framed posters advertised Dick Whittington with a coloured picture of a woman in a long waistcoat and high boots, a cat at her side.

  In the wide street, a motor car sounded its horn as a dray horse passed, heaving its cargo of beer barrels. Evelyn turned to watch the traffic. One of those fabulous open-topped buses sped along the other side of the road, a child waving from the top deck to anyone who might see. A baker’s boy cycled past, clearly on his way home from a morning of deliveries, his basket now empty. Once again Evelyn marvelled at the bustle of London. Everyone was doing something, going somewhere important. She would admit that it was less friendly than West Coombe, less of a community, but it was far more fascinating. And people formed their own communities, even in this vast city. She had already found one, of sorts, with Lilian and her friends. Although Jos seemed a little outside of that community. Did Jos have friends of her own, away from the Yellow Orchid? Evelyn wondered if she would ever have the chance to meet them. She liked the idea of finding out more about Jos, of being considered part of Jos’s world.

  “Evie!” Jos’s voice came from behind her. She turned to see Jos standing in one of the doorways into the theatre, propping it open with her foot. “Come inside, you’ll catch your death out here.”

  Evelyn smiled and hurried towards Jos. “Hello! I was a little early and I wasn’t sure if it was all right to come inside.”

  “Of course it would have been. But anyway, I’m here now.”

  “Yes, you are.” Evelyn’s eyes made contact with Jos’s, and there it was again, that warmth, that sense of expectation of something, although she did not know quite what. Jos’s expression seemed more open here, in her own territory, than it ever had when she’d encountered her before. Evelyn was glad Jos seemed relaxed.

  “So, do you want the full tour?”

  “That would be lovely, thank you. If you’re sure you have time.”

  “Oh, I’m not really needed at this point, now the performances are under way. It’s during those I have to be here. I’m only here today because they’re making a few adjustments to some of the flats—that’s the scenery, you know—and it’s always best to supervise these things. Someone has to and, in truth, I just like being here.”

  Evelyn looked around the foyer of the theatre. The floor was light beige tiles, the ceiling a concoction of ornate plasterwork, and the walls were lined with decorated satin. The fixtures, including the large box-office counter, were all carved mahogany. Chandeliers hung from the moulded ceilings. It was not, perhaps, the most modern of interiors but it was certainly impressive. Evelyn rather liked the stately elegance that was not dependent on fashion. “It’s a beautiful place to work,” she said.

  “That it is. Of course, it’s not so refined behind the scenes, but it is more interesting.”

  “I’m sure it is. I really can’t wait.” Evelyn was genuinely excited, although whether by her forthcoming glimpse behind the scenes of the theatre or by spending the new few hours with Jos, she was not entirely certain. She ran her eyes quickly over Jos, from head to toe. Her hair was slightly touseled and she was in light tweed trousers and waistcoat, fitting the curves of her body. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and showed smudges of dust. Her shirt was open at the neck, revealing her smooth skin and a trace of collarbone. Evelyn had never noticed the physicality of another person in the way she felt alert to every aspect of Jos’s appearance.

  “In that case, follow me. We’ll go through the auditorium so you can get your bearings.” Jos led the way towards a big double door with the words Stalls Right above it. She pushed the heavy pannelled door open and led them into a short passageway. “This is where the ushers take your tickets,” Jos said as they walked, “and then you come through here to take your seat.”

  The passageway opened into the auditorium of the theatre. The red-upholstered seats of the stalls stretched across the space in curved rows. Above them, the ornate dress circle balcony looked too heavy with gold-painted plasterwork not to fall into the space below. Heavy velvet curtains framed the boxes close to the stage. Above the dress circle was the upper balcony. Although the space was not wide, it seemed to soar in height. In the centre of the ceiling was a very large crystal chandelier.

  Evelyn had seen the interior of the theatre in Plymouth, palatial in its own way. But to see the inside of a London theatre, at a time when she and Jos were the only people present, was an entirely different experience. The space felt almost sacred, soaring high like a cathedral, shining with gilt decoration. She turned her gaze to the stage where the heavy safety curtain was in place, filling the whole of the white-painted proscenium arch. Even the safety curtain was decorated with a mural of flowers and cherubs.

  Jos was smiling at Evelyn. “You seem impressed,” she said.

  “It’s breathtaking,” Evelyn said quietly. For some reason it seemed wrong to speak above a whisper.

  “I suppose I’m used to it now, but I do think it’s one of the nicer theatres I’ve
worked in.” Jos did not have the same reverential tone, but she did seem proud that her place of work had impressed Evelyn.

  “It’s so strange to be here with no one else. I’ve only ever seen a theatre when it’s full of people.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s not so much the emptiness that surprises me, but the silence. Audiences are noisy, even when they’re not talking, with all of their shuffling and coughing and rustling. Not to mention the actors and the orchestra. But when it’s empty, it’s so quiet. Even now, I sometimes pause and listen to the silence.”

  “I can see why you would.” Evelyn thought it wonderful that Jos would notice such a detail, that she would stop to appreciate it too. After so many days with Lilian, who might notice the cut of a woman’s dress from across the street but had probably never spent a moment in silence in her life, Jos was a wonderful antidote. She was more than that—she was fascinating to Evelyn, in a way she had never been fascinated by another person. Without even understanding what compelled her, Evelyn wanted to know Jos on every level, to see what more she could discover.

  After a moment, Jos touched Evelyn lightly on the arm. “Don’t expect such refined surroundings once we get behind that safety curtain. Come this way.”

  Evelyn followed happily, as Jos led them down the side of the stalls and then up the short flight of stairs to the stage. As they reached the stage, Evelyn glanced out at the auditorium, at the rows of seats facing her. “Gosh,” she breathed.

  Jos turned to see what had drawn the exclaimation from Evelyn. “Oh, of course, I do always forget what it’s like to stand on a stage for the first time.” She grinned. “Why don’t you take centre stage for a moment?”

  “Can I?” Evelyn asked.

  “Why not?” Jos took Evelyn’s hand lightly in her own. Evelyn caught her breath and allowed Jos to lead her to the middle of the stage. She stood still, looking out to the invisible audience.

  “It’s hard to imagine, all those eyes, watching,” she said. Jos had let go of her fingers and she rather missed the warmth.

  “You barely see them when the footlights are burning and the spots are in your eyes. They’re just shadows. Really, you perform for yourself and the people on the stage with you. And for applause that comes from beyond the light, of course.”

  “But to be the focus of so many people’s attention…I can’t imagine it.”

  “It’s exhilarating.” Jos sounded as though she spoke from experience, which aroused Evelyn’s curiosity. “You can lose yourself in it. But then, as Shakespeare said, all the world’s a stage, isn’t it? We’re all acting our parts, all the time.”

  “I don’t know,” Evelyn said. “Until recently I never really felt like I was playing a part. I just went on from day to day.”

  “Oh, but in London, you’re part of one never-ending performance, Evie. The curtain never comes down. Only for some it’s a farce and for others it’s a tragedy.”

  Evelyn turned to Jos. “Which is it for you?”

  A shadow passed over Jos’s expression for a moment. “A farce, most definitely. Perhaps even a pantomime.”

  “I rather like the drama of it all,” Evelyn said.

  “Oh, so do I. But sometimes you need the interval, so you can retire and relax and stop playing the part, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do.” With every thought and feeling Jos shared with her, Evelyn only wanted to understand her more.

  “Well, Miss Hopkins, take your bow and we’ll go and see what’s behind the performance.”

  Evelyn laughed lightly and bowed, as she was told, to the audience of empty chairs.

  Jos watched Evelyn, smiling, thinking it odd how happy she felt in Evelyn’s company. Yes, Evelyn was unsophisticated and naive but she was also bright and thoughtful. Her natural beauty, unsullied by the usual artifice, seemed to glow. To Jos’s mind, Evelyn was more worthy of being centre stage than any other woman she’d met. But she could not act on it, could she?

  Evelyn was very different to the other women Jos had been involved with. There had been flirtations, passionate affairs, there had even been something masquerading as love, but the women had always known exactly what they were getting themselves into. Most of them had attempted to seduce Jos before she’d even decided she was attracted to them. Now she felt that the pressure was on her shoulders, if anything was to be possible between her and Evelyn Hopkins.

  Jos was not yet sure of the extent of Evelyn’s innocence but she was more than convinced that Evelyn’s experience of the world did not extend to romantic relations between women. Yet having her here, away from the distractions of the Yellow Orchid, her brother’s teasing, and Lilian’s irritating influence, it did not seem like such a leap to imagine she could woo Evelyn, that there might be some hope for something between them. She had not missed Evelyn’s sharp intake of breath when she had taken her hand a moment ago. The flush in her cheeks could only have one cause, really. And then there was Dorothy’s rather obvious attempt at matchmaking in the Orchid. She’d known Dorothy for long enough to understand exactly what the confounded woman’s intentions were. It wasn’t just Dorothy either. Clara and Courtney were convinced she’d made a favourable impression on Evelyn in their brief first meeting. She just had to be sure not to scare Evelyn by moving too fast. Or make promises she was not sure she could keep. Because she did not want to commit herself to anything, however attractive a woman might be.

  Evelyn straightened from her bow and looked at Jos. If nothing else, Jos could make sure Evelyn saw her at her best, and go from there. The theatre was her natural environment, where she was most comfortable. And Evelyn seemed geuinely keen to see the place, happy to be here with her.

  “Come on, we’ll go into the wings—I’ll show you the flats and the tunnel that takes you to the other wing. Then we’ve got the dressing rooms, and if you’re brave enough, we can go up there.” Jos pointed upward. Evelyn’s gaze followed her hand and into the area above the stage.

  “I never knew there was anything up above a stage,” she said.

  “Oh, it’s fascinating. But it is high and the stairs are steep.”

  “I’d love to see it.”

  Jos was pleased by Evelyn’s enthusiasm. She liked a woman with curiosity and Evelyn seemed to have plenty of it. “Fabulous. Then let’s go.”

  Jos led Evelyn from the stage into the wings. Jos loved the way the false, bright world of the stage suddenly became the practical, grubby working space of the wings. This was where the magic spell was cast, creating the illusion of the stage. Of course, she’d been part of the illusion in her early days, more interested in the chance to don a costume and act a role than in the practical tasks that allowed it to happen. But much had changed in her life since then. Now she actively sought a life away from false dreams with day-to-day realism, sceptical about the superficial. She’d not entirely lost her sense of magic, however. Perhaps the spell would work on Evelyn.

  Jos showed Evelyn the flats which made the scenery at the sides of the stage. Cut from thin wooden boarding, and painted in garish colours to represent the fairy-tale version of old London town, where the story of Dick Whittington, three times mayor, would play out. The painted houses were in the Tudor style, dark wooden beams and pink plasterwork, but with painted ivy leaves to soften them, the creeping vine flowering with exotic fantasy blooms, their petals edged with glitter to catch the lights of the stage. Close up, with the brushstrokes visible, it was difficult to get the full effect. Yet Evelyn was looking at them with apparent fascination.

  “I’ve never been so close to the scenery before,” she said, running a finger over a place where the thick paint had real texture.

  Jos watched that fingertip with an unexpected shiver of pleasure. “I painted this one myself,” she said, with no small amount of pride.

  “Did you really?” Evelyn looked at Jos with excitement in her expression, and real admiration. Jos could not deny that to be admired and respected by Evelyn for her artistic skills,
was something that seemed to fulfil a craving from deep inside her.

  “Yes. Like I said, I do a bit of everything, but I love to paint and we’re lacking in painters. Some of the best were killed in the war, and it can take years to train anyone up to know what they’re doing. So I help out where I can. I do enjoy the pantomime scenery. You’re really creating the world of people’s imaginations.” She hesistated, astonished by how easy it was to talk to Evelyn, to begin to reveal something of herself. “Anyway, I’m happy you like it.”

  “It’s beautiful. You’re really talented.” Evelyn sounded genuine, even when Jos tried to exercise caution. “Do you just paint scenery?”

  “I experiment on canvases at home sometimes. But it’s not the same. I’m not saying I’m terrible but my skill really lies in creating something on a big scale, that you should admire from far away. It’s not art really.”

  “I think it is,” Evelyn said. “And I’d like to see your canvases too.”

  Jos let her gaze linger on Evelyn’s expression. From another more worldly woman she would have taken that as a suggestive comment. From Evelyn, it was difficult to tell. On the surface it was simply an expression of interest. And yet she sensed something below the surface. It might not be an attempt at seduction but, she concluded, Evelyn was trying to tell her that she wanted to know her better. That was a positive sign. All of Jos’s senses seemed to spring to life, alert to any further signals she might receive from Evelyn.

  After Evelyn had examined the flats and the way the painted boards created a sense of perspective in the way they were positioned towards the back of the stage, Jos led her through the dimly lit tunnel which allowed the actors to move from one wing to the other, to appear on the other side of the stage within a few seconds, to the astonishment of the audience. Evelyn smiled broadly at this secret revealed. Her smile was so genuine—so honest and so easy—nothing like the forced frivolity of most London women. Everything Evelyn did just seemed to make her more appealing, make Jos want her more. And there was no way she could deny that now. She did want her. But how would Evelyn receive her desire? The idea of being rejected in disgust, or out of fear of the unknown, was horrific.