The Christmas Songbird

by Emma Hardwick

  As the song ended and Suzanna looked forward into the darkness, the orchestra jumped to their feet and applauded. Her co-workers swarmed onto the stage to congratulate her. Maria and the other seamstresses watched her, all filled with pride. Suzanna did not understand the irony of the song she had chosen, but Maria did. The excitement subsided, and everybody scuttled back to their work before Max found them away from their posts.

  Suzanna saw David walking down the central aisle toward her. He skipped up the stage steps two at a time.

  “How did you do that, Suzanna?” he asked with pride and admiration in his voice.

  “I did what you told me to.”

  “What was that?” he asked, puzzled.

  “I imagined your face and I sang to you,” she whispered.

  David didn’t respond to the comment, and Suzanna felt slighted. She regretted the comment instantly.

  “It’s time to get back to work, I think,” he said, coolly. “I’ll explain more on the way back to the office.”

  Her heart sank. Her moment of glory was over far too soon. As they walked into the wings, David took her hand and pulled her toward him. He put one hand around her waist and the other behind her back. Gently he drew her towards him. It was the second time that David had kissed her, and this time he did not stop. It was deliciously long and lingering. Eventually, they parted, relieved no one had seen them.

  “You were magnificent. Truly magnificent!” he gushed.

  Suzanna was speechless.

  “May I bring you flowers tonight and come for tea?”

  “Of course,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, and you don’t need to come back to the office just yet, that was just my way of getting you alone. Go and enjoy your moment of triumph with your mother.”

  Cheekily, he smiled over his shoulder as he walked towards the backstage door. Suzanna was smitten. He’s adorable.

  After watching Suzanna’s performance, Monique felt fear and fury. It was the best performance she had seen in quite some time. She knew that her French refinement would inhibit her from performing with such raw passion. There was a real danger this young nobody would supersede The Songbird’s resident headline act. The ego-bruised French starlet choked back her tears and ran to her room, careful to avoid bumping into anyone along the way. She threw herself upon her antique bed and sobbed. Burying her head deeply into her thick feather pillow, she silenced her cries. There in the soft blackness, she imagined Suzanna, stood amid her enraptured co-workers, humbled and embarrassed.

  Max and Thomas were sitting in David’s office as he returned.

  “Did you hear Suzanna’s performance, David?” asked Max

  “Yes, I did.”

  “We need to find a place for her to study music,” muttered Max with a frown.

  David did not respond. The thought of her leaving had not crossed his mind—until now. His throat tightened with stress. He was glad his father continued the conversation, else he feared he would have been unable to make a sound.

  “She has lived in this theatre since she was a child, and her mother has been loyal. They are more like family than employees. I would like to help if I can.”

  “Perhaps, we can contact the Royal School of Music,” pondered Thomas.

  “Possibly. I don’t think that the typical British musical hall goer will appreciate Suzanna’s classical repertoire. They are looking for the bawdy acts such as Marie Lloyd these days, not opera.”

  “I expect we’ll need to send her abroad, just like Monique if she is to develop her voice for the soprano solos.”

  “Father, can I please take care of this after Christmas? At the moment, everything is a challenge.”

  Max smiled, noticing that lovestruck David was looking glum.

  “Yes, that is a good idea. Let’s leave it for now and focus on tonight’s performance. It’s only a few hours until the curtain goes up.”

  David could not wait for that evening’s show to end. The days that used to go by in a flash had now become long and tedious. Much as he hated to admit it, the time spent away from Suzanna dragged. The first thing that he was going to do when his father retired was appoint a new accountant to take over his soul-sapping role. In the last week, he realised that a life spent battling with bookkeeping was meaningless.

  He made his way to the attic, accompanied by old Granny Chong, who was holding a tray with a massive bowl of noodles in a questionable watery broth. Beside the bowl was a pot of green tea. David put out his hands in an offer to help. Granny Chong, not used to chivalry, pulled the tray towards her making it slosh about dangerously. Muttering something incoherent in Mandarin, he feared she might be invoking an ancient Chinese curse. The old woman watched him with a scowl as he knocked on Suzanna’s door.

  “Come in quickly,” she told him, “Mrs Chong and Mrs Bowles, the cook, have struck up an unlikely friendship, and they will gossip about us.”

  David took the tray off Granny Chong and shooed her away. Suzanna closed the door behind him, He looked around her room and smiled, noticing the change of set.

  “When I brought you flowers last time you were living in Venice,” he teased her.

  “Yes, last night I moved to Paris.”

  Now, her bed stood beside a screen painted with the Arc de Triomphe. In the distance was the Eifel Tower. Suzanna had propped up another screen which showed a small street café. Next to that, she had rounded up four rickety French-looking chairs and a small table. In the corner was the battered and thread-bare chaise longue. David was pleased to note she had put his yellow roses into a vase and placed them next to her bed where she could see and smell them. They seemed to be holding up remarkably well with not a dropped petal or wizened leaf in sight.

  He stood next to her while she made tea. He studied her smooth amber skin and smouldering eyes. Her dark hair framed her beautiful features. She had the appearance of a slender flamenco dancer. He wanted to kiss her delicate neck but resisted. His anxious mind returned to the possibility that the competition night would be the last time he would see her. He wanted to protect her, even though she seemed to be a thoroughly modern young woman. Or perhaps I want to protect myself from the pain of letting her go.

  9

  Sundatara

  The next day, Max sauntered into Thomas’ office, did a little dance at the door then twirled on the spot, emulating the comedian Champagne Charlie. Thomas braced himself. Whenever Max was excited it was an ominous sign he was about to share another one of his bright ideas.

  “I have been at the docks this morning, Thomas, and I encountered the most interesting people and things there,” Max revealed earnestly.

  “Do I need to call David?” asked Thomas.

  “Not yet—I am afraid that my new idea will incur his wrath. Let me tell you first.”

  Thomas lifted an eyebrow. Max wanting to avoid David was another bad sign.

  “There were some Hindi people at the dock. They’re delivering an elephant to a travelling circus from up north.”

  “No, Max,” said Thomas putting his hands up defensively. “I have heard enough. I know what you’re going to say. It’s a terrible idea. I can understand why you’re scared to tell David.”

  “Hang on before you dismiss the idea. They don’t want payment for the elephant, Thomas. They are prepared to lend her to us for nothing,” Max protested. “And one of their chaps is a snake charmer too. Has a wicker basket with a deadly cobra in it, apparently. Imagine what an interesting addition that would be to the Christmas show. Our very own menagerie. It used to be such a draw at the Tower of London in the sixteen hundreds! The Songbird will bring that old tradition back to life here on our stage!”

  Thomas stood up and opened the door. He disappeared for a minute and returned with David. With a concerned look, they both sat down. Thomas sighed then began to fill David in with the latest bold scheme Max had dreamed up.

  “He has met some Hindi people at the docks. They want to lend him an elephant for
the show, and there is a snake charmer available as well, so he says.”

  David rolled his eyes in despair.

  “No, Papa. Definitely not. Do you have any idea how much food is needed to sustain a fully grown elephant? And the idea of deadly cobras escaping in the auditorium in front of a live audience doesn’t bear thinking about. What do these people really want from you?”

  “They are not just ‘these people’, David. Stop being so dismissive. It’s such an ugly trait of yours. They are a family in a bit of a fix—and you know how I feel about families experiencing hardship. Unsurprisingly, Mr Thakur, who hails from Bombay, is struggling to find his feet and feed his family now he is thousands of miles from home. They are delivering the elephant to a travelling circus, but they have nowhere to keep her before then. The skipper is sailing back to India soon and the beast needs to be off the boat. The circus is travelling down from Nottingham after Goose Fair, so Mr Thakur says.”

  “Father, do you even know if our tired old wooden stage can support the weight of a fully grown elephant?”

  “Probably. I can confirm that with the carpenter. It has supported two dozen chorus girls doing the Can-Can with not so much as a creak. Stop fretting, David.”

  “And this Indian family, now the ship has docked, I expect they will need a place to live as well, will they?”

  “Well, err—yes,” Max informed his son sheepishly.

  An enraged David thumped the desk with his fist and gave Thomas a wide-eyed and beleaguered look.

  “Now, David, don’t overreact. The last thing I need is another person behaving insufferably.”

  “What do you mean by that, Max?” argued Thomas, angry their loyalty was being questioned.

  The pent-up frustration of managing the staff finally got the better of Max and unburdened his soul.

  “Well, where shall I start? Monique is ready to relive the Battle of Waterloo with Suzanna, and she vows that this time the French will win. Granny Chong is a vicious little woman who hisses at me whenever I am close to her despite me giving her a place to live. Mr Hoffman, the conductor, is threatening to up and leave with the orchestra and go to The Canterbury if Monique does not stop her nonsense,” he argued. “What’s more, in the loft is a gaggle of Chinese waifs and strays who are turning twenty barrels of highly-explosive gunpowder supplied by the British Army into fireworks.”

  “Heavens above!” exclaimed David. “You hadn’t told me about the gunpowder, Papa. I thought those barrels were empty—props for our production of HMS Pinafore. Twenty barrels of gunpowder secretly squirrelled away in the building will make Guy Fawkes look like an amateur. You will blow up all of the West End if something amiss happens.”

  “It’s perfectly safe. Mr Lee is a professional. The Chinese have been using gunpowder for thousands of years. There really is no need to worry.”

  David was too exhausted to argue. This time he relied on Thomas to put his foot down on his behalf.

  “If the police find out about all that gunpowder, Max, you will end up in gaol. I know we needed a small quantity for a controlled display, but twenty barrels is utter madness. What were you thinking?”

  “It is for a good cause, Thomas. I want to retire with a bang.”

  “It will be more than that—it will be a bang that takes the bloody roof off.”

  “And the Thakur family?” asked Max, “What am I going to tell them? We have to take them in else they will end up in Whitechapel and be murdered. Do you want that on your conscience? Because I don’t!”

  “How big is their family?” asked Thomas.

  “There are fourteen altogether, seven children and seven adults,” said Max meekly, hoping it would sound less of an imposition.

  “Glory be, Max! And let’s not forget the homeless elephant and snake. I know we have plenty of space here, but that’s not the point. It is a working theatre, not a hostel for the needy. To my reckoning, between the Thakurs and the Ting-Chong family, there are forty people that you are happy to take in?” asked Thomas.

  “Yes,” said Max, convinced that the matter was settled.

  “No!” roared David as he re-entered the conversation, unable to bite his tongue any longer.

  He shouted so loudly that Thomas and Max jumped.

  “Enough! There is a plethora of little Chinese children running around. I found them swinging from the ropes backstage and doing somersaults off the sets. We’ll be in the papers if one of the little oiks breaks his neck. Then what will you do, Papa?”

  His concerns went unheeded. Max’s mind was already elsewhere.

  “Hmm—they have acrobatic talent? Perhaps we can use them in the show?”

  Thomas and David were apoplectic at the unconcerned comment. If Max had been a younger man, they might have lynched him. Thankfully, the trio’s escalating hostilities were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” called David.

  Mrs Bowles appeared.

  “I am sorry to interrupt. An Indian family is asking for you, Max.”

  “Ah, thank you, Mrs Bowles. So, they have arrived safely.”

  “Yes, Max, fourteen of ‘em. Out of the blue. I don’t suppose they’ll manage on fresh air. They’ll eat us out of house and home,” she grumbled

  Max rushed out of the office to welcome his new friends. The children were already sitting at the kitchen table drinking sweet tea and rapidly working their way through a pile of biscuits, like a plague of locusts stripping a crop. The women were dressed in bright elegant saris that swished around them as they walked. They looked so exotic. The men seemed to be relaxed as their wives and children chattered away like noisy birds.

  “Mrs Bowles, find somebody to take the Thakur family up to the attic if you would be so kind. There are some prop storerooms next to the Chong family. It’s not ideal, but at least they will be comfortable there. They managed to live cheek-by-jowl on the ship on their long passage, so it will feel very spacious in comparison. I’ll ask the stagehands to empty it for you.”

  Max gave Mrs Bowles a weak smile as he felt her angry eyes bore into him, then called Mr Thakur aside.

  “I have arranged that we move ‘Sundatara’ tomorrow night. I hope that the local constables will turn a blind eye. We will have to keep her well-hidden. Everything must happen after dark. We don’t have a permit to keep her here just yet, but that is a mere formality, I’m sure.”

  “What will we feed her, Max?” asked Mr Thakur. “She has a huge appetite and will strip and eat the leaves, twigs and bark off a large tree every day. We only have a few bags of food left from the trip.”

  Deep in thought Max put his hands in his pockets and looked into the courtyard. Moments later, a look of relief appeared on his face.

  “We are accepting a delivery of our Christmas trees tomorrow. What a remarkable coincidence. I am sure there will be more than enough to decorate the theatre and ensure that Sundatara has a square meal. We’ll only be stealing one a day from the display, so no one will even notice.”

  “Not to start with, at least,” joked Mr Thakur. “You must remember to take the decorations off first, Mr Leibowitz. I don’t suppose she will appreciate those.”

  Elsewhere in the theatre, Thomas knocked on David’s office door and let himself in.

  As usual, David’s desk housed a stack of letters and bills. The ledgers and journals were piled high, and the eagle-eyed accountant was lounging with his feet on the desk. Thomas had never seen him more despondent.

  “Why does he insist on overruling us with these crazy ideas? It’s like he lacks any common sense. At his ripe old age too? He says it’s my mother’s influence. She’s been gone for years though!”

  “Come, old boy,” reassured Thomas. “We’ve been through worse with him.”

  “Have we? Each Christmas his plans get more farfetched.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. They broke the mould when they made Max.”

  David started to chuckle. He took his hanky from his pocket and w
aved it in the air.

  “I surrender, Thomas,” he jested. “Pour us a drink, will you? I am not sure I can take much more of this chaos.”

  Thomas reached into the bottom drawer of the tall filing cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whisky and two cut-crystal tumblers.

  “Needs must,” he said as he poured out the large measures.

  “Indeed,” David replied as he snatched the glass out of his colleague’s hand. “Down the hatch!”

  Thomas poured two with more with a grin.

  “Medicinal, old chap. I prescribe a four-finger dose. That should fix you.”

  A little later, there was a loud and urgent knock on the door. It was Mrs Bowles on another firefighting mission.

  “David, Thomas, we have a problem with Granny Thakur this time.”

  Thomas looked at her with a familiar expression she knew to mean ‘what now?’ David covered his eyes in anticipation of what was to come.

  “Granny Thakur refuses to eat my English meals. She wants to cook her food in our staff kitchen. We need all the space available to prepare for Christmas.”

  Thomas put his head in his hands. David looked at him and began to laugh then Thomas began to snigger too. Mrs Bowles slammed the door in annoyance because she thought that the tipsy pair were both laughing at her, rather than helping.

  “Come on, David! You’re slacking,” noted Thomas. “Clearly, two drinks will not be enough to get us through the day.”

  *

  David Liebowitz had taken the back stairs hoping to avoid any people, but by the time he reached the second floor, he was ambushed by seven little Hindi children who were sliding down the bannisters. He had caught them in the act of mischief and glared angrily. They looked at him with big sad eyes. As if by magic, they transformed themselves from little horrors into the most innocent little angels. He wished that Max had been there to witness their antics—he would have wanted to use them in his show too.