Chapter Fifty-Four

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

‘T hree minutes, June!’ Grace called out.

From what Sally could hear, the show was going well: lots of applause, some boos and cheers as the judges gave their opinions of the first act, and a lot of laughter.

‘Break a leg,’ June said to Sally over her shoulder, then skipped off towards the wings. Grace and Sally watched her go. Then Grace grimaced and leant suddenly against the wall. ‘Mrs Treadwell?’ Sally went over to her, shielding her from the view of the rest of the room. ‘Are you ill?’

Grace said nothing for a minute. A bead of sweat appeared at her hairline and she’d gone very pale. ‘I can’t be having the baby now!’ she hissed. ‘It’s not due for three weeks.’

‘My Dougie was early,’ Sally said, putting an arm round Grace’s waist. ‘I think they make up their own minds about this sort of thing, without consulting our plans.’

‘But I’ve got the show to run!’ Grace said, her voice even again as the worst of the contraction subsided. ‘It could be hours, couldn’t it?’

‘It could, or it might be a lot quicker than that. Are any of the dressing rooms free?’

‘Number four,’ Grace said.

‘Let’s get you there, then. Shall I send for Mr Treadwell?’

‘No, wait for the interval. It’ll cause a fuss.’

With Grace leaning against Sally, they went slowly down the corridor. Baby June’s music became louder as they got closer to the stage. She was obviously doing the comic version and waves of laughter followed the music. Tom was watching from the wings, his arms folded, and he was smiling. Sally’s heart squeezed a little at the sight of him caught in that soft glow of light.

‘Tom,’ she hissed. He turned and his eyebrows shot up, then he walked down the corridor towards them. ‘Sally? Grace, what’s happening?’

Grace thrust the clipboard into his hands.

‘You . . . run . . . show. Get . . . Lillian, Stella and Jack . . . at . . . interval.’

‘Dressing room four,’ Sally added, leaving him looking slightly stunned.

Baby June’s act ended with a crash on the cymbals as she dropped into the splits, showing up her voluminous bloomers and with her hands under her chin. The audience cheered her and Stella came out from behind the judging table to kiss her on both cheeks.

Tom swallowed and looked at the sheet. Two minutes of comments from the judges, then Harold would close the first act. Well, he was on stage already, so didn’t need fetching. Then Tom cursed under his breath. He would need to bring up the house lights from this side of the stage, but Stella would be exiting stage right, and probably heading straight to the royal retiring room to spend the interval with the aristocrats. He looked around.

‘Miss Chisholm,’ he hissed, seeing her moving quietly between the flats. He thought for one minute she was going to ignore him, but he beckoned vigorously and she walked quietly round the back of the stage to join him.

‘Take position stage right, please,’ he said, ‘and the second she comes off stage, send Stella to dressing room four.’

‘But—’

‘Please, Miss Chisholm,’

She blinked. ‘Yes, of course, Mr Lassiter.’

‘Then go and fetch Jack from the royal retiring room.’

He must have conveyed something of the urgency of the situation, as Miss Chisholm was a little white around the lips.

Stella sat back from the judging table, which was elevated stage left, where Lancelot Drake was also sitting. Harold descended down the short light-bulb-lined stairs that Little Sam had built for them.

‘Good evening, Highbridge,’ he said, lifting his arms above his head, and the crowd cheered him, then he turned towards the royal box. ‘And a special good evening to our right royal friends. Comfy up there?’

The Prince of Wales cupped his hands to his mouth, as Ruben swung the softer spot on to the box. ‘Very! Harold, where’s your tiffin?’

The theatre exploded into laughter. Stella leant in towards Lance, a delighted smile directed at the crowd. ‘Why are they laughing, Lance?’

‘The ineffable mystery of royalty, my darling,’ he replied, applauding. ‘Though the Prince of Wales is rather a peach.’

‘You mean my new friend, David?’ Stella replied, fluttering her eyelashes.

‘Be a good girl, Stella. You’re too young for him, anyway. My understanding is he likes older women. Talking of which, I think Baby June is the hot favourite after that turn.’

‘Just you wait, Lance.’

‘You really think Mrs Blow is that good?’

‘I wouldn’t have made you drive via Sheffield if I didn’t.’

‘It was rather fun. Mr Blow and I talked fishing.’ He folded his arms and sat back, ready to enjoy the rest of Harold’s act.

Grace breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Sally held her hand and talked pleasant nonsense about her son Dougie to distract her. He sounded like a nice boy, but it was not quite enough to mitigate the effects of labour.

The spasm passed, just in time for Stella and Lillian to arrive.

‘Sally!’ Stella exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Helping me,’ Grace said. ‘I’m afraid my baby is making an early entrance.’

Jack tumbled into the room and dropped down to his knees. ‘Grace, I’ll take you to hospital at once.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Grace gasped. ‘This could take hours. You’re hosting royalty, Jack.’

Sally squeezed her shoulder. ‘It’s a crowd in here now, I’ll leave you to it, Mrs Treadwell. Good luck.’

‘Thank you, Sally,’ Grace said, briefly covering her fingers with her own. ‘Break a leg.’

‘What about Mrs Cook?’ Stella said. ‘She’s a midwife, and she and her husband are here as my guests.’

‘Would Mr Poole know them?’ Sally asked.

‘Yes,’ Stella replied. ‘I introduced them to him.’

‘Then I’ll go and fetch them,’ Sally said.

‘Shouldn’t I go?’ Lillian said. ‘Sally, you should be preparing for your number.’

‘I’m prepared,’ she said, ‘and I think you’d draw a bit of attention, Mrs Kuznetsov, particularly in that dress.’

Lillian glanced down at the close-fitting gold sheath she was wearing. ‘You may be right, Sally, thank you.’

‘Bugger royalty!’ Jack said. ‘Are you sure a doctor and a hospital aren’t the thing?’

Grace thought briefly of the grey-faced doctor whose lugubrious manner had made her rather dread any encounter with him during her pregnancy. ‘No, I want Mrs Cook, and please hurry!’

Another wave of pain shot through her. It felt as if something was trying to tear her bones apart.

Sally headed out.

‘Lillian, do go and be charming to the royal party,’ Jack said, still holding on to Grace’s hand tightly.

‘Yes, please do, Lillian!’ Grace said. ‘Tom will handle everyone backstage.’

‘If you are sure,’ Lillian said, hesitating on the threshold; then, as Grace gave her a determined nod, she left.

‘Grace, what on earth should I do?’ Stella asked.

‘Never marry!’ Grace said through gritted teeth. The spasm passed, and she began to breathe a little more easily. ‘Water, please, Stella.’

Stella fetched a glass and Jack held it to Grace’s lips. In what seemed like a few minutes – and an age – someone knocked softly at the door.

‘Stella? You there?’

‘In here, Mrs Cook!’ Stella called out. Tasha Kingsland’s mother tentatively opened the door. She took one look at them and became very practical.

‘I said round August, didn’t I? Bit early, but never mind. Now, Mr Treadwell, dear, that nice man who made tea at the stage door? Will you get him to get the kettle on?’ She picked up a couple of clean towels from the back of a chair. ‘Off you pop, Mr Treadwell. A “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door might be a good idea. And have them leave the hot water outside and knock when it’s ready. A basin would be useful, too.’

‘Should I stay?’ Stella asked as Jack kissed his wife, then left to follow orders.

‘Oh, no,’ Mrs Cook said, shaking her head, ‘you don’t want to see this!’

Stella hightailed it out of the room as quickly as Jack had done.

‘Why? What can’t she see?’ Grace said, suddenly afraid. ‘What on earth is going to happen?’

Mrs Cook patted her hand in a very reassuring manner. ‘Nothing that hasn’t happened millions of times before, my love. Now let’s see where you’re at.’

Tom saw the comings and goings from his spot in the wings. He glanced at his watch and rang the five-minute bell just as Jack emerged, looking profoundly baffled, from the number four dressing room.

‘How is Grace?’ Tom asked.

‘Having a baby,’ Jack replied. ‘It looks awful.’

‘Mr Lassiter?’ Tom turned to see Danny coming up the corridor towards him. ‘There’s a man at the stage door asking to see you.’

‘Danny, I can’t possibly—’

‘Danny!’ Jack interrupted Tom. ‘Grace is having the baby. Hot water to dressing room four.’

‘Of course, Mr Treadwell. Mr Lassiter, I really think you’d better come.’

Tom thrust the clipboard into Jack’s hands. ‘Here, Jack, keep yourself occupied. Stella is introducing the fisherman with the voice of Caruso on curtain up.’

Then he turned and followed Danny.