Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T hey followed Miss Chisholm through the lobby and into the stalls, where she disappeared in the direction of the ladies’ powder rooms. The new girl, Sally Blow, was standing in the aisle, holding a basin for Mrs Briggs.

She glanced round as they appeared, and addressed Jack. ‘It was the chicken salad, I think, Mr Treadwell. It had walnuts in it, which I can’t abide, but lots of the others had some.’

Jack’s heart sank.

‘Who is down and who is up, Mrs Blow?’

‘Mr Poole is confined to his cubbyhole, King Rat is groaning on his sofa, and Fairy Bow Bells has gone back to her digs. The chorus all went to the Dog and Duck with the band for Mr Porter’s birthday, so they’re all right, just a little tight. And Josie is on a bread and water diet since she split her jerkin, so she’s fine, too. The cat’s as sick as a dog, though.’

Mrs Briggs groaned.

Jack looked at his wife. She had removed her gloves and tucked them into her handbag. ‘Harold is the thing,’ she said, with a briskness and purpose to her tone. ‘How is he?’

The man himself staggered onto the stage. ‘I can go on, Grace.’

She looked at him. ‘Are you quite sure?’

He shook his head decisively. ‘Nothing wrong with me the sound of an audience can’t cure. I think Samantha from the chorus can manage the cat. But we’ll need a fairy, and a rat.’

Grace turned. ‘Stella, could you? It’s a matter of flying in at a couple of key moments and you can have the script.’

Harold nodded. ‘Just say it’s your magic fairy scroll.’

Stella lifted her hand and stepped back; she’d gone almost the same colour as Mrs Briggs. ‘I can’t . . .’ Her voice was tight and tangled. ‘I’m never going on stage again. I simply won’t.’

‘But, Stella—’ Grace said.

‘No, absolutely not,’ Stella said, as she turned and walked out of the auditorium.

Harold watched her go, his face heavy with concern. ‘She’s got a bad case of the wobbles, hasn’t she? Anyone got any more ideas?’

Tom stepped forward. ‘Perhaps Sally—’ he began, but before Jack could ask him what he meant, Lillian had interrupted.

‘I shall play Fairy Bow Bells, Grace. Though I think given how long it’s been since I ventured on stage, perhaps I should walk before I attempt to fly. Nikolai, you’ve been at every rehearsal. Do you think you could manage King Rat?’

‘I should be honoured, if Grace thinks it possible.’

Grace was still looking at the space where Stella had been. She shook herself. ‘You’ll be wonderful, Nikolai. Mrs Blow, how is Milly?’

‘Her mum came and picked her up, Mrs Treadwell,’ Sally said. ‘And Mrs Briggs’s daughter is coming for her in a bit. I can stay on and get the lobby tidy, I think. Danny is bad, but I think Ollie has the same opinion on walnuts I do. He’s sitting by the stage door and growling at anyone who looks too poorly to work.’

Grace nodded. ‘Thank goodness you don’t like walnuts. Jack, could you check we have enough crew to run the show?’

‘I can pull a rope,’ Tom volunteered.

‘So can I,’ Dixon added.

‘Good.’ Jack was reminded of the first time he had ever seen Grace, poised and perfect, backstage, snapping out questions and commands with her eyes gleaming. He was lost in awe of her at that moment, and had to shake himself to concentrate on her actual words. ‘Jack, then have Marcus put up a sign to advise of the cast changes. Nikolai, see what of King Rat’s wardrobe you can use.’

‘As long as I have the ears and the tail, I shall manage,’ he said stoutly.

‘Lillian?’ Grace went on. ‘The girl playing Fairy Bow Bells is a good six inches shorter than you.’

‘All I need is my wand. I have a couple of gowns in the office. Harold, I think you’d better lie down until you need to dress.’

‘I rather think you’re right, Lil,’ he mumbled, and exited the stage again with his hand over his mouth.

Tom was swept up for the next hour in the general whirlwind of activity. The band, like the chorus, were in good health, but he and Nikolai rehearsed King Rat’s big number in the second act in the upstairs rehearsal room, and Fairy Bow Bell’s solo lines in the finale with Lillian, then went to help Marcus and Jack fix notices to the lobby doors. Miss Chisholm had retired to the offices, and Marcus was ready to sell the standby tickets. Dixon was being trained on the follow spot after Ruben was found groaning miserably in the lime box.

Hurrying back to the rehearsal rooms, an hour before curtain up, to see what he might help with next, he found Sally scraping the suspect chicken salad into a slop bucket.

‘Can I help?’ he asked. She thrust the bucket at him.

‘Yes, take this out to the back yard, and make sure it’s not anywhere Ollie can get hold of it. Though I think he’s got enough sense not to eat it.’

He took it from her.

‘Tom, you were on the point of saying I should go up there, weren’t you?’

So I’m ‘Tom’ again. Is that good?

‘I was – you’d be marvellous.’

She scowled. ‘That stage isn’t for the likes of me!’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘Oh, don’t be so daft.’

‘What’s daft about it, Sally?’

‘Why are you pushing me? I should never have taken this job. Ollie has a lot to answer for. And Miss Ruby, too. Gets me to sing like that, then she’s back here and I’m rinsing down the tiles in the WC again, and now every Saturday they’re expecting miracles of me in the bar. And I don’t know what to do.’

She shook the last of the salad into the bucket. It did smell a little ripe.

‘You don’t need to perform miracles – you are the miracle. Just be yourself, Sally.’

‘Oh, for crying out loud! And who exactly is that? I’ll tell you. I’m a widow, and a cleaner with a sick little lad and rough hands. You and Ruby, shaking me about. And for what? This isn’t a fairy tale and you’re not Prince Charming come to fix everything.’

Tom slammed down the bucket, coming dangerously near to slopping it. ‘Of course it’s a fairy tale! That’s what theatre is all about. It’s why we all end up here.’

‘No. It’s your fairy tale. People like me are here to clean it. Second Mrs Briggs is back on her feet, I’m handing in my notice. It’s not fair, being this close, but still on the other side of everything.’

‘Of course it’s for you, too! Lillian swept factory floors before she became a star. Jack worked in a department store. Harold’s mum took in laundry. Sally, what’s happened? You’re special.’

‘I’m not!’ He was shocked to see tears spilling from her brown eyes. ‘I’m just Sally Blow. My husband, Noah . . . he was special. He had a smile that could make your day and he was a good man and your family killed him .’

Tom felt a chill spreading from the base of his spine. It made his blood feel thick and his mind slow. ‘What?’

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘They killed my Noah! I didn’t know! I’m that stupid. They said it was just an accident. Then Noah’s parents came to see Dougie on Christmas Day, and they went a bit strange when I said I was working here now, and they told me.’

‘Told you what, Sally?’ He felt his heart breaking for her.

‘About Noah! He went to a couple of meetings about unions, that was all, but the bosses at Lassiter’s found out, and the steward started picking on him. Giving him the worst and most dangerous jobs in the factory, driving him half-mad with worry, and he tried to hide it from me, what with Dougie being so little, and I just thought he was tired with the baby being fractious, but they were wearing him down! No wonder he was tired enough to make a mistake at the machines. Is it still an accident? Or is it murder then?’

‘Sally, I don’t know—’

‘And what do I do? Make eyes at the heir, and sing that song for him. Even if you weren’t there, I was singing it for you, and then I wash out your bloody lavs. And you think I should be on that stage! Lady Lassiter didn’t even hear you—’

‘Sally, darling!’

‘Don’t! Look at you. With your nice job, and your nice clothes, and it’s all paid for with my husband’s blood and the blood of the men like him.’

‘It wasn’t like that in my grandfather’s day.’

‘I don’t need a history lesson, Tom. I need to get away from here, and I’m only staying until I can find another job.’

Tom was dumbfounded. Some small, ridiculous part of his brain had heard those words about ‘making eyes’ at him and Prince Charming; then there was the terrible story she was telling.

‘Sally, I—’

‘Just take the bloody bucket and go, Tom! I can’t bear to have you look at me.’

He carried it away and added to the slops from the chop house, well out of Ollie’s way. He had been so pleased with himself just a few hours earlier, ready to invest his money in his brave new venture. Money made from men like Sally’s husband. He turned on the yard tap to wash his hands. How could he get them clean? He hadn’t been lying, though. It hadn’t been like that in Sir Barnabas’s time.

‘Tom?’ He turned and saw Jack, his tie askew and his eyes alarmingly bright. ‘Nikolai wants to have another run at his song. Isn’t this exciting? The news that Lillian is appearing on stage seems to have spread. The queue for standbys is down to Bertram’s!’