Little Stars

by Jacqueline Wilson

‘Don’t you want to join us, Emerald?’ she asked, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Oh, Miss Royal, I want to more than anything in the world! But – but you seemed so shocked by my behaviour last night,’ I stammered.

  ‘I was shocked at both the Rubys, dear. Appalled at Samson, though I know that such behaviour is typical. Far more astonished that Mrs Ruby could be so foolishly vindictive. She prides herself on being a businesswoman too! She could see how well you went down with the audience. Well, more fool her. She has declared your contract null and void, so you are both free to come to us, my dears.’

  ‘You’re sure you want me, Miss Royal? I’m not very good at acting,’ said Diamond. ‘Are there lots of pussycats in all your plays?’

  ‘Not really, dear. But I’m sure we’ll find a little part for you in most things,’ said Miss Royal.

  ‘Perhaps she could be Little Em’ly in David Copperfield?’ I said tentatively.

  Miss Royal laughed. ‘There, you’ve been thinking things out in your head already, Emerald.’

  ‘Emerald!’ said Miss Gibson, sniffing. ‘What are you doing, taking these two little girls and turning them into actors? It’s different playing dollies at the Cavalcade and riding their old cycle. That’s natural enough, though I can’t say that I approve of kiddies in a music hall. But getting themselves up in paint and acting other people, that’s different – and in London too! It’s child labour, whichever way you look at it. Hetty’s hardly old enough to earn her own living, let alone little Diamond.’

  ‘I think Emerald’s been doing her fair share of labour here,’ said Miss Royal mildly.

  ‘Sewing’s different! It’s respectable work, suitable for any young woman,’ said Miss Gibson.

  ‘I’m afraid we have to agree to differ in our opinions.’ Miss Royal stood up. ‘We haven’t got time for further disputes. The girls and I have a train to catch. Come along, my dears. Say goodbye to Miss Gibson.’

  We both hugged and kissed her. Miss Gibson drew away from me and turned her cheek from my kiss, but she clasped Diamond as if she would never let her go. ‘If you don’t like life with these theatricals, you can always come and live with me, Diamond,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you very much, dear Miss Gibson,’ Diamond said. She hesitated. ‘I don’t want you to be lonely. I know you’re not very fond of Maybelle because she’s so plain, but perhaps you’d like Adeline to keep you company when we’re gone? She’s very pretty indeed, and you could make her lots of new dresses and display her in the shop window.’

  ‘Oh, Diamond, I can’t take your dolly!’ said Miss Gibson. ‘But I like your idea of dressing a doll for the window. Perhaps I shall do just that!’

  ‘Thank you very much for looking after us so well, Miss Gibson,’ I said. ‘And you won’t forget to give the letters to Bertie, will you?’

  ‘Oh, Bertie!’ said Diamond, her face falling.

  ‘We must go right away, or we’ll miss the train!’ Miss Royal said quickly.

  So we left Gibson’s Gowns and set off for the station. Diamond carried her dolls and their equipment, and I carried the suitcase. I dithered about taking the penny-farthing.

  ‘You won’t really need it now, will you?’ said Miss Royal.

  I knew she was right, but I was reluctant to let it go.

  ‘It helped us escape from Tanglefield’s Travelling Circus, it’s served as a vehicle, and earned us a living as a novelty act,’ I said, stroking it as if it were a pony, not a penny-farthing.

  ‘You’re starting a new life now,’ said Miss Royal. ‘Actors don’t do novelty acts.’

  So I left it in Miss Gibson’s yard and we hurried towards the station. Mr Parkinson and all the other players were on the platform. A hot, damp porter was struggling with an enormous pile of trunks and cases.

  ‘We’d practically given up on you!’ said Mr Parkinson. ‘Did it take you a while to make up your minds?’

  ‘No, sir, we decided in an instant,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much for giving us this opportunity. I promise you won’t regret it.’

  ‘I hope not,’ he said.

  I swallowed. It was very embarrassing having to ask, but I needed to know something. ‘Please excuse my asking, but what sort of wage will you be paying us?’

  ‘It’s ten shillings, is it not?’ said Mr Parkinson.

  ‘Yes, it was while we were at the Cavalcade, because we were also being paid by Mrs Ruby. But though it will be a privilege to work with your company, I’m afraid Diamond and I won’t be able to manage on such a small sum. Please, sir, could we possibly have a little more?’

  Miss Royal laughed. ‘There, Gerald, we’ll have to put on a production of Oliver Twist in our Dickens season. Young Emerald would play Oliver very nicely!’

  ‘Ten shillings each,’ said Mr Parkinson.

  ‘That’s very kind, sir, and a fair enough salary for Diamond as she’s a little child, and likely to have small parts. But I’m of working age, and perhaps you’ll be kind enough to cast me in bigger parts. I think I might be worth at least a sovereign, especially if I maintain the costumes for the company. So that makes thirty shillings a week for the two of us.’ I held out my hand. ‘Is that a bargain?’

  Mr Parkinson frowned, not at all impressed, but Miss Royal and Harry and the other players were all laughing.

  ‘She’s got you fair and square, Gerald,’ said Miss Royal. ‘I think you’re going to have to say yes.’

  ‘Very well, very well,’ Mr Parkinson muttered, and he shook my hand, though he was still frowning. I was a little worried that I’d been too assertive. I didn’t want him to regret taking us on the very day we joined his company, but on the other hand I had to show him that I wasn’t a fool. Thirty shillings for two Players (albeit small ones) was still a very modest salary. I wasn’t going to let him exploit us just because we were young. And if he gave us a written contract, I would examine it very carefully indeed before signing.

  The train steamed into the station and there was a flurry of activity as the gentlemen Players ordered the porter about and the ladies climbed into the third-class carriage. I had assumed that Miss Royal and Mr Parkinson at least would travel in first-class splendour, but it became clear that even the Principal Players had little money to spare. They didn’t go to eat in the dining carriage. They spread checked napkins on their laps and ate pork pies and drank ginger beer straight out of the bottle like the rest of us. Luckily there were enough provisions for Diamond and me, and we shared out our bacon sandwiches. The ginger cake was particularly popular once it was cut into chunks with Harry’s penknife.

  Diamond ate her share, and fed Adeline and Maybelle crumbs in a way that made Mr and Mrs Greatorex coo at her, but she started staring out of the window anxiously, especially when we drew in to each station.

  ‘What’s the matter, Diamond?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m looking out for Little Foxfield. Isn’t that where Madame Adeline lives now?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s on another railway line entirely. We’re going to London. Didn’t you understand? We’ve joined Miss Royal and Mr Parkinson. We’re going to be Players now, in a London theatre.’

  ‘I know. I’m not stupid,’ said Diamond, a little indignant. ‘But I thought we were still going to see Madame Adeline first. You said we could go and see her, and I want to so much. And I want to see Mr Marvel and all the monkeys, especially Mavis.’

  ‘Yes, I know, and we will go and see them, I promise. But not today.’

  Diamond looked desperately disappointed. ‘You said we could go and see her,’ she wailed.

  ‘And we will. Once we’ve got settled in London,’ I tried to reassure her.

  ‘Well, where are we going to live in London?’ Diamond asked sulkily.

  This was a problem I hadn’t addressed. I had assumed that all the Players would live in one big house in a very jolly, companionable way, but this wasn’t the case.

  ‘Mr Parkinson and I have our own apartment in Bloomsbury,’ said Miss Royal. ‘But it�
�s very modest, with only one bedroom. I suppose one of you could sleep on cushions in the bath as a temporary arrangement, but it would be extremely cramped and uncomfortable.’

  I rather liked this idea, but Diamond drooped.

  ‘We really need to stay together,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps you could stay in Stella’s ladies’ hostel?’ Miss Royal suggested.

  ‘They don’t take children,’ Stella pointed out.

  Cecil and Alfie shared a small house with four other young men – it was very crowded and unsuitable accommodation for two girls – and Mr and Mrs Greatorex lived in a converted mews cottage with their grown-up sons and a very elderly parent, so they had no room for us either.

  ‘We’ll find you cheap lodgings, girls, don’t worry,’ said Miss Royal. ‘Perhaps Gerald will pay you your wages a week or two in advance so you have the rent money.’

  Mr Parkinson ignored this suggestion.

  I tried to work out exactly how much money I had in my purse. I wasn’t sure how much the rent would be. Miss Gibson had let us stay for nothing because I helped her with the sewing. I had paid rent in Bignor, but maybe seaside rents were cheaper than the capital? Either way, I probably only had enough for a night or two – certainly not a full week.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, little ’un,’ said Harry, patting my hand. ‘You can come and stay with me until you can afford your own digs. I have a very large living room with comfortable sofas. My amiable landlady has happily accepted the occasional nephew staying with me. I’m sure she won’t object to a couple of pretty little nieces.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Mr Henderson,’ I said, a little doubtfully. After my experience with Samson I was wary of older men.

  ‘Bless you, Harry, that’s very generous of you.’ Miss Royal put her head close to mine. ‘Have no qualms, you’ve nothing to fear from Harry. It will all be very respectable,’ she whispered.

  She was right. When we arrived in London, everyone went their separate ways, which was a little disconcerting. On Monday we were to meet at some rehearsal rooms in a street in Covent Garden, and spend a week practising there before opening at the theatre in Shaftesbury Avenue.

  ‘I live just up the road, in Soho, so it’s all very convenient,’ said Harry. ‘It’s not too far from the station. I dare say you two little girls could walk it in a flash, but if I ask my poor legs to carry my stout old body, they’ll start to buckle before we know where we are, and there’s my trunk to deal with too. So we’ll take a hansom and arrive in style.’

  I had uncomfortable memories of my trip in a hansom the previous night.

  Harry saw me hanging my head and laughed. ‘Oh dear, I’ll warrant your head’s still thumping even now,’ he said.

  ‘It is, rather,’ I admitted.

  ‘We’ll all have a nice cup of tea when we get home. It will make all the difference, you’ll see.’

  Harry’s street was narrow, with grim grey buildings on either side of the road. There was litter in the gutters and strange people lurking on street corners. Diamond put her arms round her two dolls protectively, probably remembering her own childhood.

  ‘I wish we were back at Miss Gibson’s,’ she whispered to me.

  I rather wished it too.

  Harry’s house was at the end, part of a plain Georgian terrace, the bricks black with grime, the steps cracked, the front door peeling. He knocked at the door with a cheery rat-a-tat-tat. We heard light footsteps inside, accompanied by a tap-tap-tapping.

  ‘My landlady, dear Miss Grundy, is coming,’ said Harry. ‘She uses a cane.’

  ‘A cane?’ said Diamond nervously, remembering Beppo’s stick.

  ‘To get about, my dear. She’s blind, but she never complains. Such a cheery soul.’

  Then the door opened and we saw Miss Grundy for ourselves. Diamond had been expecting someone very stern and fierce, swishing her cane. I had pictured a very elderly person in cap and mittens. But Miss Grundy was only a few years older than me. She was the whitest young woman I’d ever seen, apart from her black spectacles. She had limp white hair tied up in a bun, and the palest face, which looked drained of blood. She wore a white dress and a white apron and white stockings and white kid boots, and she was smiling broadly, showing off her small white teeth.

  ‘Mr Harry? I can smell your delightful cologne!’ she said.

  ‘Indeed, it is I, dear Miss Grundy.’ Mr Harry reached for her ghostly white hand and gave it a kiss. ‘I’ve turned up again like a bad penny.’

  ‘Dear Mr Harry. Welcome home!’ she said. Then she turned her head as if she could see Diamond and me. ‘And I believe you’ve brought a friend or two with you, Mr Harry? Welcome to you too, my dears.’

  I said a polite ‘How-do-you-do,’ but Diamond was staring open-mouthed, too astonished for politeness.

  ‘Are you a ghost girl?’ she asked. ‘You’re so white!’

  ‘Diamond!’ I hissed, shaking her arm. ‘Please forgive my little sister.’

  Miss Grundy roared with laughter. ‘Don’t be silly, dear, I don’t mind at all. I admit I’m a bit of a puzzle,’ she said. ‘I’m real enough, but I have a strange condition. I have no skin pigment, so I’m white as snow. I’m an albino, like a rabbit. And my poor eyes are very weak because of my condition, so I can’t make you out at all. I know you’re girls from the pitch of your voices. The little one’s Diamond?’

  ‘And I’m Hetty Feather, Miss Grundy, though my stage name is Emerald Star. Diamond and I are new members of the Parkinson Players,’ I said proudly.

  ‘I’m hoping they might stay with me in my spacious chambers until they have acquired enough cash for decent digs,’ said Harry.

  ‘Well, I dare say I can find them their very own room,’ said Miss Grundy. ‘Come in, come in. This house was left to me by a great-uncle – another albino, bless him, so he wanted to provide for me. I find it difficult to work with my bad eyes, so I take in lodgers. I only accept recommended guests – with my affliction, I have to be cautious, but any friend of Mr Harry’s is definitely a friend of mine. Do come in and I’ll make us some tea. How rude of me to keep you all standing on the doorstep!’

  She led us along the dark hallway and into her living room. It reminded me of Mr Buchanan’s, with its huge leather armchairs; its tables covered in ornaments; its glass domes of stuffed birds and cases of blue butterflies; and its landscape paintings set symmetrically along the flock wallpaper. By the fireside Miss Grundy had created her own special corner, choosing items for their feel rather than their looks. There was a velvet chair with tassels, several silk cushions, a small tapestry stool, a little table with a collection of smooth round eggs made out of semi-precious stones, a marble angel with outspread wings, a glazed china bowl of beads and buttons, and a real kitten sleeping in its basket on the floor.

  ‘A kitten!’ said Diamond. ‘Oh my!’ She sat Adeline and Maybelle with their backs against the stool and then knelt beside the kitten, gently stroking its soft grey back.

  ‘Are you getting acquainted with my little Lily?’ asked Miss Grundy. ‘They tell me she is grey, with a very white face like mine. I hope you like cats, Diamond. Lily would love you to play ball with her when she wakes up.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Grundy, you can count on me!’ said Diamond. And when Miss Grundy produced checked pink-and-yellow cake to eat with our tea, she let out a sigh of sheer happiness.

  After we’d had our refreshments Miss Grundy felt her way upstairs, tapping with her cane, and showed us to the room at the top of the house that she thought would suit us. It was small, perhaps once a servant’s room, but the bed seemed comfortable and the linen fresh. It was a little dusty around the edges and a few cobwebs hung from the ceiling – Miss Grundy clearly couldn’t properly supervise its cleaning – but in half an hour we’d made the room spick and span.

  ‘Is this our home now? Oh, please can we stay here for ever, Hetty? Adeline and Maybelle and I like it ever so!’ said Diamond.

  She had clearly forgotten Miss
Gibson’s – though neither of us had forgotten Madame Adeline. We were already in London, which was much nearer to Mr Marvel’s cottage in Sussex. I promised Diamond we would make a trip there as soon as possible. Meanwhile we were busy from early in the morning until midway through the evening, rehearsing.

  The Players had performed a version of David Copperfield before, but our scenes were a new innovation: Cecil had been unable to convince as a small child, so the important opening chapters about the young Davy had merely been referred to in several lines of exposition. But now I was the child Davy, just as I’d hoped. I had several wondrous scenes with my young mother, with the hateful Mr Murdstone, with Miss Royal as Betsy Trotwood, and with Harry got up as a splendid nurse Peggotty. Then there was the best scene of all, the Peggotty boathouse on the sands, with Diamond playing Little Em’ly.

  Diamond still didn’t care for acting, and found her few lines hard to learn – but every night, tucked up together in bed, I recited them to her again and again until she knew them by heart. I knew that Little Em’ly had a blue bead necklace, so I bought some glass beads from the market near the rehearsal rooms and threaded a necklace for her.

  ‘There you are. It matches your beautiful blue eyes,’ I said.

  ‘You have beautiful blue eyes too, Hetty. We’re really like sisters!’ said Diamond.

  ‘Sister and brother. I’m young Davy now, remember?’

  ‘Poor Hetty, having to be a boy and hide your long hair!’

  Diamond simply wanted to look pretty on stage – but I wanted to shine. Inside my head I was Davy all the time. I didn’t have that many lines myself, and twenty minutes into the play I disappeared entirely, to be replaced by Cecil as the grown-up David. Privately I thought he made a pig’s ear of the part, but I couldn’t help that.

  Miss Royal was wonderful, of course, though she was confined to character parts and the rather uninteresting Agnes, but somehow she made her silent yearning so powerful and poignant I couldn’t look at anyone else in the room. I was happy to watch the play over and over again, but Diamond couldn’t help getting fidgety.

  I sat her in the corner of the rehearsal rooms, and at first she played quietly enough with Adeline and Maybelle, but she couldn’t help muttering to her dolls, making them talk back to her in Little Pip voices. The Players put up with this for a while, but Cyril started to complain that it was distracting. I’m sure he was simply making excuses for forgetting his lines, but Mr Parkinson took him seriously.