Little Stars

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘But you were kissing him yesterday!’

  ‘To distract him from you, you fool,’ said Thelma.

  ‘Goodness!’ I felt a fool, and an ungrateful one at that. ‘Oh, thank you, Thelma!’

  ‘I’ll watch out for you, and so will most of the other girls. But we can’t be around all the time, especially now you’re in the second act. So watch out. Keep as far away from him as possible or he’ll eat you for breakfast,’ she said. ‘Got it, kid?’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ I said.

  She smiled, and I saw that underneath all her make-up she was only a few years older than me, and a sweet kind girl for all her rough ways.

  ‘I wish I had lovely shiny yellow boots like Thelma’s,’ Diamond said, after she’d gone home. ‘Will you buy me a pair one day, Hetty?’

  ‘No, I will not!’

  ‘That’s not fair. Madame Adeline bought you boots!’

  ‘Yes, riding boots. Thelma’s boots are quite different.’

  ‘And I like her black stockings with holes in. Can I have pretty stockings like that?’

  ‘No, they’re fishnets and totally unsuitable for a little girl,’ I said, sounding as prim as a matron. I started worrying again. I knew that the music hall wasn’t really the right environment for an impressionable child. It couldn’t be good for Diamond to be amongst such girls all the time. They were kind-hearted and made a big fuss of her, but most folk wouldn’t consider them respectable. Still, most folk would sneer at a foundling and a circus child who’d been sold by her own father.

  ‘Thelma and all the girls who dance here are very kind girls and I like them a lot, but they’re not considered “good” girls, Diamond,’ I said carefully.

  ‘I think they’re good,’ she said stoutly.

  ‘Well, perhaps you’re right,’ I said. ‘But I’m certain of one thing. Samson Ruby isn’t a good man at all – he’s very, very bad. We must both keep away from him.’

  ‘Why?’ Diamond asked.

  ‘Because he might try to kiss us.’

  ‘Bertie kisses us. He’s not bad – he’s very, very good.’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ I said.

  ‘And he looks after us. When Mr Apple was horrid, Bertie stood up for us. So we don’t need to worry about Samson Ruby. Bertie will fight him if tries to do anything bad,’ said Diamond.

  I thought about it. Bertie was brave and hot-headed. He would fight. But Samson Ruby was tall and well-muscled. Bertie was strong and a street scrapper, but I didn’t see how he’d ever beat Samson. I didn’t want him to get hurt. And if by some miracle he managed to hurt Samson, what would happen then? Mrs Ruby adored Samson. One of the artistes thought he was her nephew. Most sniggered, and implied he might be a closer companion, though he was half her age. Whatever his relationship to Mrs Ruby, she would be furious if anyone hurt him. And if you fell out with Mrs Ruby, you wouldn’t last long at the Cavalcade.

  ‘We mustn’t tell Bertie,’ I said firmly. ‘We don’t want him to get into a fight or he’ll be in trouble. We’ll just keep away from Samson Ruby, that’s simple enough.’

  I still felt a little anxious, but I told myself I was worrying unnecessarily. It was a relief to go on stage and concentrate on our act. The audience were rowdy, and one quartet of drunken toffs in the front stalls were especially annoying, calling out silly things so that folk in the stalls missed half our jokes. I tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. I remembered how Mrs Ruby had confronted a heckler.

  ‘Wait a second, Diamond dolly,’ I said in my little-girl stage voice. I gently pushed her off my lap. She stared at me in surprise. ‘Sit there like a good dolly. Don’t move. Well, you can’t, can you?’ It got me an uncertain laugh. I stood up and skipped to the front of the stage, peering across the lights. ‘You see, there’s four fine dummies down there and it seems they all want to play with me too.’

  This time the laugh was huge. I smiled. ‘Do you want to come and sit on my lap, fine sirs? You’re very good at saying silly things, so you’ll make all the fine folk laugh.’

  The audience cheered and, thank goodness, the toffs subsided. I returned to Diamond and everyone clapped hard. We had not one, not two, but three curtain calls that night.

  THE NEXT MORNING I had two letters, one from Madame Adeline and one from Jem. They were both unsettling.

  I opened Madame Adeline’s first, pulling Diamond close so she could try to spell it out for herself. I’d been trying to encourage her, but she had grown too used to my reading everything aloud for her.

  ‘Dear Hetty and Diamond . . .’ She frowned at the next paragraph. ‘Madame Adeline’s writing is too swirly to read properly,’ she said. ‘And where are my pictures?’

  In all our previous letters, Madame Adeline had written the news, while Mr Marvel had drawn comical sketches of his family of monkeys. The littlest, Mavis, featured most prominently because she was Diamond’s favourite and they’d always had a special bond. Mr Marvel showed Mavis getting up to all kinds of naughty tricks: sometimes she’d be hunched at the corner of their table, tail curled like a handle, so that she resembled a monkey teapot. In the next picture she’d be grabbing a sandwich, and then holding a whole Victoria sponge, nibbling all round the edge. He’d draw Mavis in their bed with Mr Marvel’s old-fashioned nightcap on her head, so that all you could see were her paws and tail. The funniest picture was of Mavis wearing Madame Adeline’s red wig, looking like an ugly little girl with Rapunzel hair. Diamond would laugh and laugh at these pictures and keep them carefully folded beneath Maybelle’s belongings.

  I peered inside the envelope again, but Diamond was right – there were no monkey pictures. And no mention of Mr Marvel. Madame Adeline’s letter was unusually short.

  Dear Hetty and Diamond,

  Oh, girls, what a relief to know you are safe and sound! My last letter to Tanglefield’s was returned with NO LONGER HERE! scrawled across it. As you can imagine, I was very worried. I think you were very wise to leave. I never trusted Beppo – he was far too harsh with my little Diamond. I am very excited that you are music-hall artistes now. My clever girls! Please give me details of your act. I hope the other artistes there are kind to you. I wonder if they give you cake like your loving

  Madame Adeline

  ‘It’s too short! She always adds that Mr Marvel sends his love too – and sends a message from Mavis. Madame Adeline hasn’t written it properly this time,’ said Diamond.

  ‘I expect she’s busy. Or tired. And my letters to her are never very long,’ I said guiltily. ‘I’ll write her a really long letter next time – and you could write too, Diamond. It will be good practice for you.’

  ‘Writing makes my hand ache,’ she whined.

  ‘You should have been brought up in the Foundling Hospital. We had to write the same sentence for hours, and if we made any spelling mistakes or ink blots we had our knuckles rapped,’ I said.

  It had been such a cruelly strict regime – and yet by Diamond’s age I had a clear flowing hand and could read my way through any volume. I could sew and darn, and parrot all kinds of general knowledge, learned by heart.

  ‘Maybe I should enrol you in a local school now that we’re settled here,’ I said to Diamond.

  She looked appalled. ‘I don’t care for school at all,’ she said firmly.

  ‘How do you know? You’ve never actually attended one.’

  ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t like it. Besides, I don’t want to be anywhere else. I want to be with you, Hetty. And Miss Gibson. I like to join in your talking, and do my own sewing,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think Miss Gibson and I are the attraction. You only perk up when a certain Mr Bertie comes calling,’ I said, pulling her hair.

  ‘Well, I love Bertie,’ said Diamond merrily, ‘and so do you, Hetty.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I said, and bent my head so that my hair swung forward, hiding my burning cheeks.

  I opened the second letter. This was longer and much more informative.

  Dear H
etty,

  It was a great relief to all of us to receive your letter. We have been very anxious about you. It was rather a shock to hear that you are now working in a music hall. I must admit I have never been in one, but I know they are very dubious places, entirely unsuitable for young girls. What sort of act do you do? And what kind of costume do you wear? I hope it is a proper dress. I was alarmed when I saw you at the circus in those riding breeches! Dearest Hetty, it’s not your fault you’ve had such a strange, hard life, mostly without a mother’s care, but you really shouldn’t flaunt yourself so. It’s not right, and people will get the wrong impression.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ I snorted, crumpling the letter in my fist. ‘He sounds as old and fuddy-duddy as Mr Buchanan! What a prig! How dare he wag his finger at me in such a manner. Who does he think he is? He’s never been to a music hall, so what does he know? And how can he say I flaunt myself? Talk about insulting!’

  I ranted on for several minutes while Diamond blinked at me.

  ‘Why are you so cross, Hetty?’

  ‘Because Jem is being so horrid and stuffy and lecturing. He’s scarcely been out of that village all his life. He knows nothing about town life and the way most people live. To think I always looked up to him and thought him so wonderfully wise!’ I said furiously.

  I wasn’t just angry, I was unhappy too. I’d wanted Jem to be impressed that I was now a music-hall artiste, one of the true stars of the show. How had he changed so much? He had been thrilled when I rode with Madame Adeline the day he took me to the circus all those years ago. Was he truly shocked now – or was he just jealous that I had been so daring and adventurous. I was actually a little bit famous now. There had been a tiny piece about the Little Stars in the local news journal. Well, it was mostly an interview with Lily Lark, but there was a little insert about us.

  Miss Lark is performing nightly at the Cavalcade, along with many other stars of the music hall, including the Little Stars, two cute wee girls with a sweet novelty act.

  It was irritating to be labelled a ‘cute wee girl’ (Bertie insisted on calling me this frequently to tease me), but flattering to be given a special mention. I bought another copy of the journal, so that Diamond could cut out the article for her biscuit box and I could stow mine in the suitcase with my other treasures.

  I was so annoyed with Jem that I stuffed the letter in my pocket and didn’t read the rest until that afternoon, when I was having a cup of tea with Miss Gibson, taking a break from embroidering lilies.

  I read your letter out loud to Mother and Gideon, and they were so delighted to have news of you. Mother actually managed to say the word Hetty, and then shook her head fondly, as if remembering what a naughty scrap you used to be. Gideon is generally very quiet, but he became truly talkative, and chatted away about our games when we were all children. He added that you’d been a truly wonderful sister to him at the Foundling Hospital, caring for him whenever you had the opportunity.

  I was very touched by this passage, and held the letter to my chest, as if I were hugging poor ailing Mother and dear Gideon. But then I read on.

  Of course I didn’t read out the passage about the music hall, as I knew Mother and Gideon would be as concerned as I am. I told them you were employed as a seamstress, and they both thought this a delightful occupation. Gideon remembered how you sewed black satin roses on Mother’s bonnet on the sad occasion of Father’s funeral.

  Perhaps Mother might have been a little concerned, if she were capable of understanding the concept of a music hall in her sadly fuddled mind. She’d certainly been shocked when I’d been to the circus as a child, and had called Madame Adeline a hussy because she wore pink spangles and showed her legs when she rode her horses. But Gideon would be extremely interested. He might well think the music hall glamorous. I so wanted a brother to be proud of me. I especially wanted that brother to be Jem.

  ‘Oh, Jem!’ I said aloud in exasperation.

  ‘Jem?’ said Miss Gibson.

  ‘This is the boy I grew up with in the country. Well, he is a man now – and seems to have become very stuffy. He’s telling me off for being a music-hall artiste. The nerve!’

  ‘I can understand his concern, dear,’ said Miss Gibson, sipping daintily. ‘It’s not really respectable, especially for ladies.’

  ‘How can you say that, when we’re making a gown for Lily Lark right this moment, and Mrs Ruby is your most valued customer?’ I demanded.

  ‘That’s business, dear,’ she said placidly. ‘Now tell me more about this Jem. What does he look like?’

  ‘Oh, he’s . . .’ I struggled to find the right words. He was Jem. It was a struggle to remember him as a man. I always thought of the boy Jem first, his hair tousled, his cheeks rosy, his long limbs lithe and tanned. My foster brother Jem, the boy who taught me everything, who played with me, who cuddled me close whenever I needed comfort. It was an effort translating all these dear images into the man Jem had become.

  ‘Is he handsome?’ asked Miss Gibson.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ I replied. I hadn’t really thought about it, but yes, Jem would certainly be considered handsome. Janet wasn’t the only girl who thought him wonderful. Half the girls in the village had set their caps at him. ‘He’s got dark hair, rather curly, and he can never be bothered to go to the barber’s so it’s a little long and wild,’ I said. ‘He’s got brown eyes, very warm brown eyes, perhaps his best feature. And he’s grown tall, so that he towers over me. He’s broad in the shoulder, and strong, because he works on the farm.’

  ‘Oh, my,’ said Miss Gibson. ‘And what sort of nature does he have?’

  ‘He’s very smug and quick to judge,’ I said. But then I thought about it. ‘However, he’s kind, extremely loyal, very gentle and caring. And although he’s not exactly a gentleman, he certainly acts like one.’

  ‘Dear goodness!’ Miss Gibson shook her head. ‘Poor Bertie.’

  ‘What did you say?’ I said, puzzled for a moment. Then I conjured up Bertie in my mind, making him stand beside my imaginary Jem. Bertie barely came up to his shoulders. His hair stuck up wildly. His blue eyes twinkled and he always had a cheeky grin, but no one would ever call him handsome. He wasn’t gentlemanly either, and teased and tormented when he felt like it. He was also a flirt, and I still wasn’t entirely sure he could be trusted.

  ‘Well, your Jem sounds perfect in every way,’ said Miss Gibson.

  ‘He’s not at all! He’s become very priggish. And he’s not my Jem. He’s very likely betrothed to someone else by now.’

  ‘Would you mind if he were?’ asked Miss Gibson.

  ‘Of course not. I would be delighted. I actually could have had Jem as a sweetheart myself, but I decided against it. He’s more like a brother to me, I assure you,’ I said.

  Then I read the rest of his letter.

  I am so delighted you wrote to us, Hetty dear. I did not know how to get hold of you to tell you my news. Janet and I are going to be married next Saturday – the 27th! We have been betrothed for the last six months and are so happy together. The whole family is delighted for us. I have had a wage rise, and can just about afford to rent my own small cottage on the estate. It is very run down and primitive, but Janet is brave and says it’s beautifully picturesque. I will do my best to repair the thatch and whitewash it when we’re given the tenancy, and Janet has already begun making curtains and rugs and will do her best to turn two humble rooms into a little palace.

  Our wedding will be a very simple affair in the local church, with a party at Janet’s parents’ house. Keep your fingers crossed for us that it is sunny on the 27th because Janet wants to have dancing on the lawn. I am sure she will regret this, because I become a lumbering ox on any dance-floor, but hopefully she will make allowances for her new bridegroom!

  The family will all be guests, of course – and as you are very much part of the family too, it is our dearest wish that you should come and wish us well. I now realize this probably won’t be possi
ble, as you will be performing in this Cavalcade – but please think of us at noon on Saturday, and raise a glass to Janet and

  Your ever-loving brother,

  Jem

  There seemed to be something wrong with my eyes. I had the greatest difficulty finishing the letter. The words kept blurring. Perhaps I’d done too much sewing recently. I started to rub my eyes and my knuckles grew strangely wet.

  ‘Why, Hetty, you’re in floods of tears! Whatever’s the matter? Is it bad news from Jem?’ Miss Gibson came rushing over and gave me her own lace handkerchief.

  ‘I’m sorry! No, everything’s perfectly all right. I don’t know why I’m crying. Yes I do! I’m happy for Jem. He’s going to marry one of my dearest friends, the girl I wanted him to marry all along. Yes, I’m very, very happy for them both,’ I said, scrubbing at my eyes.

  Miss Gibson was no fool. She patted my shoulder and went into the kitchen to make another pot of tea. I peered after her. Diamond was at the sink, playing boats with the soap dish and three corks – a baby’s game that amused her for hours. Maybelle was propped on the draining board paddling her rag feet in the water.

  Miss Gibson murmured something to her and Diamond looked round at me, concerned. I couldn’t bear their attention – I needed to get away by myself to try to work out what I was feeling. I thought of the penny-farthing, but that would mean drawing attention to myself. Instead I ran out of the shop, down the road, as far as I could. I wanted to go to the woods where Bertie had taken us, but that meant a bus ride, and I didn’t have any money. I ran right through the town and eventually took refuge in the little municipal park.

  It was not much bigger than a large garden, with a path, some grass, several flowerbeds planted with regimental precision, and a small pond without a single duck. A mother was helping her little boy float a toy wooden yacht across this uninspiring calm sea. Perhaps I should bring Diamond here? She would enjoy floating her ‘boats’ on the pond. But maybe I shouldn’t pander to her new childishness. I didn’t know how best to look after her. She needed to play now to make up for the hardships of her past, but I didn’t want her stuck in little girlhood for ever.