“Well, I’m not usually fooled, I think it’s true this time, don’t believe the girl could tell a lie. Simple little thing, with the most honest blue eyes you ever saw.”
“My poor L.L., this is most affecting. What’s the little pet’s name?”
“Flora Elk. Unbelievable, isn’t it? Of course we’ll have to change that.”
“Change it? She is going on the stage, then, in spite of a cruel father?” She looked enquiringly at L.L. “Where do I figure in this story?”
“When I was in America I bought ‘Looby.’”
Mouse giggled.
“Did you think that was a secret? Don’t you ever read your gossip column? ‘I ran into L.L. at the Savoy Grill last night, he was looking very well, I thought, after his strenuous time in New York. While there, he bought ‘Looby,’ Broadway’s latest success. I understand we are to be allowed to see it soon, the cast is not yet completely settled, but Clara Drew will play the name part, her first appearance since her honeymoon.’ Like to hear any more?”
“Since that stuff appeared Clara’s started a baby.”
“Accident? Or did she mean to?”
“Being under contract to me, she says it’s an accident, but she and Ted are both pleased. Ted’s doing the ‘Home isn’t a home without a child’ stunt.”
“He’ll need to feel that way when he comes in late after the show and the baby howls all night.”
“Later on, it will be good publicity for Clara, but it’s put me in a hole over ‘Looby.’ I’ve guaranteed production in six months, they’ll give me a short extension, but not enough to get Clara on her feet. Given the right sort of glamour, that show’ll run a year.”
“And Flora Elk is the right glamour?”
“I think so. She can dance quite enough, she can sing reasonably, and her face would fill any theatre.”
“Well, that’s a help to you, but how’s it going to help me?”
The waiter brought the coffee, L.L. waited patiently till he had poured out both cups, then he handed Mouse a cigarette, lit one for himself, and drew his chair a shade closer to hers.
“This Elk girl has a flaw. She has the worst refined accent I have heard in years, she says ‘Oh fency,’ and ‘Thenks ever so,’ and ‘Oh ai sa-ay’—it’s excruciating. I’ll send her to Myra Ling for elocution and singing, and that’ll put her right as far as the part is concerned, but if she is to make the sort of success I see her making, she’s got to get rid of that accent on and off. It’s a funny thing, Mouse, have you ever noticed, you can get away with any commonness in London, but you must not be refined. After I had that talk with the Elk, I brought Ferdie down to see her—he’ll direct ‘Looby’—he’d seen her at the audition of course, but not to talk to, and he agreed with me that she was a diamond, but he was dubious about getting her ready in six months; he said her accent was lousy, and the only chance we had was to get her away from home to live with somebody who spoke the King’s English, and knew what was what.”
Mouse nodded, pleased at having solved the puzzle.
“Me.”
“That’s what we thought, you’re perfect for the job.”
“Will the cruel father allow it?”
L.L. shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know. He might if you persuade him, if not I’ll try money, but sometimes that rough type can be got round by a woman.”
“Me persuade him!”
He saw she disliked the idea, he patted her hand.
“You can try, Mouse: plain clothes and no paint, ‘Lady of the Manor’ stuff, you know. I’ll lend you my car, of course. It’s worth your while to try, because if you get her, you can shove her in your empty bedroom, and I’ll pay your entire rent for six months.”
There was a pause while Mouse studied her cigarette, then she raised her head.
“You know, L.L., nobody admires the professions of Pimp and Procuress more than I do, but they don’t happen to be mine.”
L.L. looked horrified.
“My dear Mouse! What are you imagining? This is simply a business matter. I shall put the girl under long contract and get my money back. Surely you know me too well to suppose——?”
“I know you far too well to suppose your intentions are honourable; they never have been, why should they be now? I’m not criticising you, my sweet, but simply stating facts.”
“You’ve got me all wrong, I’ve only one idea in my head, and that’s to get this girl drilled up to play ‘Looby.’ Come on, Mouse, be a sport, don’t hold out on me.”
Mouse laughed, she picked up her bag and gloves.
“I’ll come back to the office with you, and well get the whole scheme laid out, but,” she stood up and looked at him squarely, “I’ll agree just so long as there’s no funny business. The day you start that, the Elk goes back to Daddy.”
CHAPTER IX
Flossie had never heard of Margaret Shane, but on principle she disliked women, so it was with no pleasure that she climbed her stairs in Shepherd Market, and rang the bell. Mrs. Hodge showed her into the sitting-room. She thought it queer, so little furniture and so many flowers, and odd to have a blue ceiling. She sat primly on the edge of an armchair, and kept half her attention on the door, so that when Mouse came in, she was ready for her with her most wistful and successful smile.
Mouse paused for the fraction of a second, and in that time took in that L.L. had not exaggerated the beauty, it was real, and breath-catching, just in the way an apple-tree is when it flushes into pink-tipped flowers in the spring. She also took in Flossie’s clothes, the cheap materials, and the parody of the fashion, ‘That’ll all have to come away,’ she thought. She recognised the smile, it had been a stand-by with her at the same age, before she changed it for the subtle and cynical one that she used to-day, and which she now turned on Flossie. Flossies smile quivered under it, but it held, as she said with pinched refinement:
“How do you do? Mr. Low said you were expecting me. Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
“Grand,” said Mouse out loud, while to herself, she thought, ‘My God! That can’t be natural.’ She got up and fetched the cigarette box. She offered one to Flossie, who shook her head.
“I don’t smoke.” She looked at Mouse, fighting her fear of her perfection, hating that, so much older, a woman could, by her mere manner and dress, make her feel so inferior. She noted with pleasure that the face before her was lined. “It seems a pity to start when you’re young, don’t you think? Time enough when you’re older,” she said softly.
Her voice and eyes were the personification of innocence, but not for a second did they deceive Mouse. ‘The little cat,’ she thought, ‘that was a dig for me.’ She lit her own cigarette and dismissed the remark with an amused uplift of her eyebrows.
“Tell me, Flossie—I shall call you Flossie, you are too young to call Miss Elk—has Mr. Low talked to you of plans?”
“He said he thought he might have a part for me in a show later on.”
“You’d like that, of course?”
“Oh, I should, ever so.”
“Did he tell you why he wanted you to see me?” Flossie shook her head. “There are two reasons, the first is that he wants me to see your parents and persuade them to let you have your chance, and the second that while you’re being trained, he wants you to live here.”
Flossie lost her careful poise.
“Oh my!” she gasped.
Mouse saw that she was knocked endways, and her brain working like lightning, arrived at the conclusion that it was most unlikely that so much dismay was due to the thought of living with her, therefore it must be because she did not want her visiting her home.
“Your father dislikes the thought of your going on the stage, doesn’t he?” she probed. “Do you think he will change his mind when he hears what a chance you have?”
“I don�
�t know, I’m sure.”
“Well, do you think it’s a waste of my time going down?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure.”
“What exactly did your father say when he made you send the contract back to Mr. Low?”
Flossie twisted her hands, then she whispered:
“He didn’t know I did.”
“Didn’t know! Then why did you send it back?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I was afraid.”
“Whom of?”
“Dad.”
“Oh.” Mouse knew she was being told a lie, but unable to place what, decided to let the matter drop. She smiled trustingly at Flossie. “I think I’d better tell you what the plans are, for that’s what I’m going to talk over with your parents. Mr. Low thinks that you can dance and sing enough for the part he has in mind, although you’ll have to work at both. Your speaking voice is the trouble.”
“My voice?” Flossie was honestly surprised that anything about her was open to criticism. “He never mentioned it.” Her tone expressed her disbelief.
“Not to you, perhaps, but he thought it, and so did Ferdie Carme who’s going to produce the show, and incidentally, so do I, so you can take it that it won’t do.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“At present, everything. But if you work, it can be put right, and that’s why Mr. Low means you to live here; it’s near Miss Myra Lynd who will take you for voice training and singing, and he thinks,” she looked kindly at Flossie, “that it will be easier for you to get it right quickly if you live away from home.”
Flossie wriggled her shoulders.
“If Mr. Low isn’t satisfied, I don’t know why he’s taking all this trouble.”
“He’s fond of a gamble. Of course sometimes he backs the wrong horse; he may this time, but he’s prepared for a risk.”
“I’m sorry he thinks I’m a risk.”
“My dear child, don’t be offended, of course you’re a risk.”
“I’ve played big parts before without all this fuss.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, when I was a kiddy. I was Cupid in the revue at——”
She stopped, for Mouse began to laugh, she laughed so much that the tears rolled down her cheeks.
“The child emetic! Baby Flora! Of course I remember you! To think I should live to meet you in the flesh.”
Flossie had no idea what an emetic was, so she supposed, in spite of Mouse’s laughter, that she was being complimented.
“It is a small world, isn’t it?”
Mouse wiped her eyes.
“What a pity they’re going to change your name. I could exhibit you like something in the Zoo, no one would believe it. Baby Flora! That’s the best laugh I’ve been handed for years.” She pulled herself together. “I’m so sorry, you’ll get used to me in time. Do you think you’ll like living here, supposing that I can persuade your father to let you?”
“It’ll be ever so nice.” Flossie’s voice was full of loathing.
“Do you think about three will be a good time to catch your father and mother in?”
In front of Flossie’s eyes rose the house, and the shop, and the Fordham Road; she would have greatly preferred it if Mouse need never have seen any of them. Sitting in this flat, all queer colours and expensive brocades, she wished that she had known that Mouse meant to call, then her mother could have dusted the parlour, and put real flowers into the vase instead of the artificial ones.
“Yes, they’ll be in.” She looked shyly at Mouse. “You’ll find it very simple after what you’re used to.”
Mouse grinned.
“Don’t be silly. Now you ought to be off. You’re lunching with Mr. Low, aren’t you?”
Flossie got up. ‘Mrs. Nosy Parker,’ she thought, ‘knows everything.’ She went to the door.
“Good-bye.” She looked up with a shy glance at Mouse. “I hope I come to live with you, I’d like it ever so.”
Mouse grinned as the front door shut, she turned to a china dog in her fireplace. “That was the human version of ladies of your genus.” She went into her bedroom calling for Mrs. Hodge, who yelled: “Comin’, dear.” She arrived wiping her hands on a dish-cloth.
“What a lovely young lady.”
“Glad you admired her. She’s probably coming to stay here for a bit.”
“That’ll be nice for you, havin’ a bit of company. Relative, is she?”
“No, she wants somewhere to stay, and I want help with the rent so that I needn’t let the flat.”
“Oh, a boarder.”
“Oh God! I’m hating the thought of having her quite enough without you making things worse by calling her a boarder.”
“Well, if you’re a boarder you’re a boarder, and no good pretending different.”
Mouse unhooked her frock and pulled it over her head. Her voice came muffled from the material.
“Shut up.” Her head reappeared. “Bring me in my black coat and skirt, not the new one, but the one I wear at memorial services.”
Mrs. Hodge went out to the hanging cupboard in the passage; she came back with the coat and skirt, and a hopeful gleam in her eye.
“You had bad news, dear? Going to a burying?”
“No, an abduction. What old black hats have I got?”
“There’s the little velvet. You look a picture in that.”
“You poor cow! I said ‘old hats.’ I’ve not got so many new ones that I need to be reminded of them. Go and get that hat-box from the shelf in the bathroom, there’s a dear.” Mrs. Hodge fetched it, and put it on the floor. Mouse rummaged to the bottom of it, and came out triumphant. “The old felt! I’d quite forgotten I’d kept it.” She pulled it on. “How do I look?”
“Not yourself at all.” Mrs Hodge eyed her reminiscently. “Funny thing, do you know you put me in mind of the Care Committee lady that used to come along of young George’s tonsils. Still, a bit of lip salve and that’ll be a help.”
“I’m hardly using any, only a spot of powder on the nose.”
“You can’t be well! I’ll get you a cocktail. What time was you havin’ lunch?”
“As soon as it’s ready. Don’t spare the gin, I’m going to need that cocktail.”
Fanny was ironing Flossie’s underclothes when she heard a car stop at the gate. ‘Whatever’s that?’ she thought. ‘Can’t be the baker yet, and the milkman’s been.’ She put down her iron and went to the window. Mouse got out of the car, and opened the gate, and knocked on the front door. Fanny took off her apron, and smoothed her hair in front of the glass. ‘Must be someone about Floss,’ she thought; ‘she won’t half be wild at them catching me at her ironing.’
“Mrs. Elk?” Fanny fumbled between ‘Miss’ and ‘Madam’ as a form of address, so Mouse helped her. “My name s Shane, Miss Shane. I’ve come from Mr. Leon Low to see you and your husband about Flossie. Can I come in?” Fanny held open the door and then led the way across the kitchen to the passage at the other side, at the end of which was the prim, Victorian, never-used parlour. Mouse suspected where she was going; the kitchen looked snug; the parlour, she was sure, would smell of beeswax and ancient Bibles. “Can’t we sit in the kitchen? You’re in the middle of ironing, you could get on with it while we talk.”
Fanny thankfully took her hand off the parlour door-handle. Whenever she did have to sit in there, times like when the minister called, the accumulation of unlived-with objects around her made her tongue-tied; she admired the room, but she thought it very unhomely.
“Well, if you don’t mind.” She ushered Mouse into the kitchen, and pulled forward the armchair. She went back to her ironing. ‘Floss won’t half be wild if she hears,’ she thought, ‘but you feel less awkward with having something to do.’
Mouse fumbled for an opening remark.
“Fi
ddling work, ironing.”
“These little things of Flossie’s are; take such a time they do, she’s that particular is Floss.”
“Can’t she do them herself?”
“Floss!” Fanny looked at Mouse and decided she could be trusted. “Her dad thinks she can, thinks she sews, too; makes it awkward sometimes with all these little scrappy silk and lace things she wears, they take such a time to make, and not being able to get on with them in front of Mr. Elk, it hangs things up.”
“Can’t she sew at all?”
“She can, but she never does. You couldn’t expect it, could you?” There was a world of pride in Fanny’s voice.
“Is Mr. Elk in?”
“In the shop he is. Do you want to see him?”
“I think it might be easier to explain things to you first. I’ve come, as I told you, about Flossie. She is a pretty girl.”
“She is that. It’s queer, for I’ve no looks, no more ’as Mr. Elk, and Floss ’as been lovely since the day she was born.”
Mouse looking at Fanny’s sagged, lined, blemished skin, and flopping figure saw no point in denying her remarks about her appearance. It’s not so much queer,’ she thought, ‘it’s a bloody miracle.’ She came abruptly to the point.
“How do you feel about her going on the stage?”
Fanny was surprised.
“Me! Didn’t Floss tell Mr. Low? It was me that put her to it in the first place.” She rested on her iron, and haltingly at first, and then, helped by Mouse’s sympathetic interest, with growing ease, she told of the beauty competition, and the four years while George had been away, of how hard it had been, and yet how worth while.
“It set her the right way, you see, Miss Shane. What with the pieces in the papers, and the attention she had, she got to feel she was different from others, and though her dad made her give up workin’ she’s never altered, never puts her hand to a bit of house-work, like a princess she is.”
“Then she hasn’t worked since?”
Fanny looked round anxiously at the door into the shop, and saw it was closed.
“Well, I’ll tell you something, but you mustn’t mention it to Mr. Elk, no good rubbin’ at an old sore. She didn’t give up the dancin’: her dad thought she did, but she never. Floss was too clever for him, she got round him to let her stay on at Madame’s, never letting on it was the dancin’ place. He thought it was just an ordinary school, you see, same as she’d been to before. Then when she came fourteen he wanted her to leave and come home and help me—you see I’ve always suffered with my inside since she was born—dropped, it has—so he meant well thinkin’ to spare me. But Floss was ready for ’im—made you laugh to have ’eard ’er—she says she’s workin’ for a cookin’ diploma so’s she’ll be a really good cook time she’s married, and could she stay another two years?”
It Pays to Be Good Page 7