A Dream of her Own

by Benita Brown

  ‘She owes that to me. I told her that she must wash regularly. She can have as much hot water as she likes and I’ve treated her to some scented soap - she doesn’t have to use the household stuff - and that she must also wash her hair and keep it tidy. Believe me, she looks a deal better than when I first came here but, be honest, Nella, she’s not exactly pretty. And yet the young man seems to dote on her.’

  ‘Nothing strange about that. You don’t have to be a raving beauty to attract admirers, handsome ones at that.’ Nella was smiling. Constance could have sworn the smile was smug... secretive . . . but Polly came back into the room and they held off talking.

  ‘I hope Miss Nicholson likes calf’s foot broth,’ Polly said as she placed the soup tureen on the table.

  ‘Oh, Polly, not again,’ Constance sighed.

  ‘I do like it. At least I think I do.’ Nella sniffed appreciatively as the maid began to ladle the broth into the soup plates.

  ‘It’s good for you, Mrs Edington,’ Polly said uncompromisingly. ‘Master John wants you to have the best.’

  ‘I know it’s good for me but this is invalid food,’ Constance protested. ‘And I’m not an invalid, I’m just expecting a baby.’

  Polly looked shocked. ‘No need to shout it out like that.’ Constance held her tongue; she knew it was no use arguing. ‘And cheer up, there’s lamb chops to follow and then raspberry blancmange and jelly with a dollop of cream.’

  ‘Does she always speak to you like that?’ Nella asked when the girl had gone.

  ‘No, but John has asked her to look after me and she’s taking it very seriously. Do you know, I shall be delighted when Albert Green finally plucks up the courage to propose to her.’

  ‘Oh yes, the young man who lives next door. And talking about admirers ...’

  ‘Mm?’ Constance sipped her broth, which was delicious, and looked across the table to find Nella looking like the cat that had swallowed the cream.

  Nella kept her waiting. She broke her bread into her broth and ate three spoonfuls before saying, ‘I’m sure Polly’s young man is as good-looking as you say but he couldn’t possibly be as handsome as my admirer.’

  ‘Your admirer?’ Constance tried to keep her surprise from showing and failed.

  ‘Think that’s a likely story, do you?’

  ‘No . . . of course not . . . but your life has changed so much already that this . . . this . . .’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I can hardly believe it meself. But it’s true, right enough. There he sits, in the best seat - usually the royal box - just staring at me as if I was the girl of his dreams and, ee, Constance, he’s so handsome. Tall and dark and handsome just like in them stories. Harry Bodie says that the fella’s a regular stage-door Johnnie except that he’s not interested in any old chorus girl in search of a good time. He’s just interested in me!’

  Nella’s eyes were shining and, looking at her, Constance could see how lovely her face was and, combined with her sweet singing voice, how easily she could attract a man. If only he could not see her malformed body.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Nella said sharply. ‘And he’s nivver seen me close up. Also I divven’t walk about much once I’m on the stage. In fact Harry’s arranged it so that the curtain comes up on a blacked-out set and then the spotlight comes on, white as moonlight, and picks me up just as the music starts. Very poignant, he says, whatever that means.’

  ‘Nella, I . . .’

  ‘And then there’s me cloak,’ Nella hurried on. ‘You noticed it, didn’t you, when you first saw me today? I’ve designed it so that it hangs just so and disguises the way me poor little back is all crooked. And, do you know, I hev you to thank for that idea.’

  ‘Me? How?’

  ‘Tell you later. But anyways, Valentine’s got no idea what I really look like. And there’s the problem.’ Her features pinched up with worry.

  ‘You know his name?’

  Nella sighed. ‘Yes. Lucy recognized him, and so did some of the dancers. He’s called Valentino Alvini and he owns the restaurant next door to the Palace. Lucy was taken there for dinner once or twice by one of her Johnnies, and quite a few of the troupe go to the coffee shop on the ground floor - and once seen never forgotten so they say. Ee, Constance, what am I gannin’ to do?’

  ‘Do? I don’t understand?’

  Nella fell silent while Polly came in and cleared away the soup plates. She served the chops and vegetables and left the pudding on the sideboard. Constance told her that they would go back to the front parlour for their coffee and then they were alone again.

  Nella pushed one of her chops around her plate for a moment before she said, ‘He wants to meet me. There’s a young lad always with him, seems to be some kind of servant. He brought a bouquet of flowers to the stage door and left a message that his master would be pleased if Miss Nicholson would meet him in the coffee shop. He said I could leave word with the manageress as to what morning would best suit me. But I can’t gan, can I?’

  ‘I ... I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Don’t you, Constance? Don’t you really?’ Nella gave her a bitter look.

  ‘Nella, you’ve been so brave . . .’

  ‘Brave?’

  ‘Yes, leaving the Sowerbys and starting this new life of yours. Every night you go on stage and stand before hundreds of people and sing. And, from what you’ve told me, they seem to love you.’

  ‘But they don’t know the real me!’

  ‘But I do, and I don’t find it strange at all that you’ve acquired a handsome admirer.’

  ‘And he’s rich an’ all,’ Nella couldn’t help saying. ‘Not that that matters; I’m making money of me own.’

  Constance smiled. ‘You can’t run away from it, Nella. You’ve got to be just a little more brave and go and meet him. If he loses interest in you once he’s seen you face to face then he doesn’t deserve you.’

  Her friend stared at her for a moment and then seemed to make a decision. ‘You’re right. I’ll gan to the coffee shop. Lucy’s promised to be me chaperone. Chaperone, that’s what Harry calls it. It’s really because he wants to keep an eye on the situation - doesn’t want anyone running off with his bread and butter!’

  ‘Bread and butter?’

  ‘As me manager he’s doing well out of me success.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘You know, I’d prefer it if you came with me. Would you? I could write and tell you when it’s to be.’

  ‘We-ell...’

  ‘Oh, do say you will!’ Nella leaned towards her across the table. Her eyes were shining.

  Constance smiled. ‘I’ll see.’

  Nella seemed to accept this as an agreement.

  When they had finished, Constance rang for Polly, and Nella told the girl that she had never in her life had such a tasty luncheon. It was blatant flattery but, as Constance observed the little scene, she realized what a good actress her friend was becoming. So good that Polly actually smiled at her and went on smiling as she served them coffee in the front room.

  ‘Thank you for building up the fire,’ Nella said. ‘You wouldn’t think it was nearly summer, would you?’

  ‘No,’ Polly replied, not quite sure how to react to all this charm from someone who had seen the sharp side of her tongue.

  ‘And by the way,’ Nella said, just before the girl left them, ‘if I send you a couple of complimentary tickets to the next show at the Palace, would you hev anyone in particular you would like to accompany you? I’m sure Mrs Edington would give you the night off, wouldn’t you, Constance?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Constance could barely refrain from laughing.

  ‘I ... oh! Yes, please Miss . . . Madam . . . yes, please!’

  ‘Nella, I can hardly believe the change in you,’ Constance said when they were alone. ‘You have become such a consummate actress.’

  ‘If consummate means I’m good, then yes I am. And perhaps I always was.’

  ‘What do you mean?’
<
br />   ‘How else did I manage to get through all those years at the workhouse and then the Sowerbys’ house? Only by hiding what I really felt and putting on a show. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes I do.’

  ‘You did it too.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But, anyways, I can’t sit here all day, I’m a working woman. But I promised I’d tell you how I owed the cloak idea to you, didn’t I?’

  Constance nodded as she sipped her coffee.

  ‘Well,’ Nella said, ‘it was that black cape you gave me. I went to the Grainger Market to do a bit of shopping and this young scallywag bumped into me and his ma apologized as if I was a proper lady. She didn’t look horrified or disgusted—’

  ‘Nella—’

  ‘No, Constance. You know it’s true. Just think what Polly was like. Well, anyways, she looked at me straight, as if there was nothing different about me and I realized that in the crush - the way I was standing - with the cape over me horrible little hump, I looked like a proper person. And that’s how I came to design me stage outfit! Isn’t that grand?’

  ‘Well, yes, it is.’

  ‘And now the reason that I went to the market in the first place.’ Nella delved into her handbag, a more commodious item than the one she had had the last time she visited, Constance noticed, and brought out a red velvet jewellery box. ‘Here, it’s for you.’

  Constance took the box, opened it and stared at the gold chain and locket that she had totally forgotten about. As she did, painful memories of the night that Nella gave it to her flooded into her mind. The chain biting into her neck when Gerald... when Gerald . . .

  ‘Ee, don’t cry, Constance. I didn’t tell you at the time but I could see how upset you were about losing me present and I decided to get it mended. There you are - good as new - your initial and mine entwined to prove our friendship. You will wear it, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ There was no going back. She had lied when she told Nella that she had managed to fight Gerald off. So how could she tell her now that the chain brought back too many painful memories?

  ‘Here, let me put it on for you. No, don’t get up.’

  Nella was bending over Constance, holding the ends of the chain in her hands when the door opened. Both of them turned to see John standing there, his face convulsed with horror.

  ‘Constance!’ he said. ‘Who on earth is this?’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nella stepped back and turned her head to look at John. Constance, distractedly, couldn’t help noticing how the gesture emphasized the shape of her friend’s humped back. She rose from her chair and stared at her husband. He had not moved from the open doorway and she couldn’t understand why he looked so perturbed.

  ‘John . . . this is my friend Nella Nicholson.’

  ‘Your friend?’

  ‘Yes, I ... we worked together at the Sowerbys’ ...’

  ‘Miss Nicholson is a servant?’

  Constance hated the expression in her husband’s eyes. ‘She was a servant - just as I was.’

  ‘Of course.’ He made the effort to smile and walked into the room. But he left the door open.

  ‘Nella is not working there now. She is - she has become a singer. She is successful ...’ Constance said.

  John wasn’t listening and he avoided her eyes. Neither did he look at Nella. He reached past Constance and pulled at the bell rope.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Constance asked.

  ‘My dear, now that I have come home I’m sure that your friend—Ah, Polly,’ he said as the girl came into the room, ‘Miss Nicholson is leaving. Will you fetch her things?’ John went over to stand by the window.

  Constance could hardly bring herself to face Nella. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, ‘I don’t know what . . . why...’

  ‘Hush,’ Nella whispered. ‘He’s just disappointed because he wanted to come home and spend some time with you. Any young husband would be the same.’

  Constance knew that Nella didn’t really believe that. She was putting on an act for her sake, and she felt ashamed. And puzzled. She had always believed John to be kind and compassionate. One of the reasons that she had fallen in love with him was because it hadn’t seemed to matter in the slightest that she was a servant. So that couldn’t be the reason for John’s shocking behaviour. No ... she knew what the matter was - and she could hardly believe it.

  ‘Here,’ Nella murmured as she pressed the chain and locket into Constance’s hand. ‘I said I had to gan, so it’s not as if he’s chasing me away.’

  But he is, Constance wanted to protest.

  Her distress must have showed because Nella gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Don’t upset yerself, Constance. I’ll call and see you again, I promise.’

  Nella allowed Polly to help her on with her cloak and then she reached up and kissed Constance on the cheek. ‘Did that surprise you?’ she asked when she saw Constance’s eyes widen. ‘I’m catching theatrical ways, you know. It’s all kisses and “darlings!” backstage even when they can’t stand the sight of each other!’

  Constance managed a smile but in truth she hadn’t been reacting to Nella’s gesture. Over her friend’s head she had seen John’s look of horror and his visible shudder. He remained standing by the window when Polly ushered Nella from the room.

  When the door had closed after them he hurried forward. ‘Sit down, my love. You look tired.’

  She obeyed him but she said, ‘I’m not tired, John. Just upset.’

  ‘Upset?’ He took the chair opposite to her and smiled kindly. ‘Has your... Miss Nicholson’s visit been too much for you? Perhaps you ought to write to her and ask her not to come again.’

  ‘Not to come again? My friend never to come and see me?’

  ‘Never is a long time.’ John looked uncomfortable and because of this Constance warmed to him a little. ‘I don’t know if I mean never. But perhaps just while you are . . . just until after our child is born. Or rather until you are done with nursing.’

  ‘Oh, John, done with nursing? That is still a very long time. You might as well say never.’ She was mortified to discover that a lump of misery had risen in her throat and her eyes were stinging.

  ‘Sweetheart, don’t cry!’ John came to kneel at her feet. He took a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her eyes gently. ‘You see, you are overtired.’

  Constance caught at his hand and kept it in her own. ‘I’m not tired. It’s just that I think I know why you don’t want Nella to call and I’m ... I’m disappointed.’

  ‘Does she mean so much to you?’ He resumed his place on the chair.

  Constance sighed. ‘Yes, she does and I’m disappointed because I think I know why you dislike her so—’

  ‘I didn’t say I disliked her.’ He looked uncomfortable and Constance smiled ruefully.

  ‘You didn’t have to. You could hardly bring yourself to look at her—’

  ‘That’s true,’ he interjected. ‘Oh, sweetheart, when I walked into the room and saw her standing over you all humpbacked and crooked like Rumpelstiltskin, I was shocked to the core!’

  ‘Why, John, why?’

  ‘Because you are so beautiful and the child you carry, our child, is so precious, that when I saw that . . . that . . .’

  ‘Don’t, John. Don’t say it!’

  ‘When I saw her standing over you like an ogre in a fairy tale, I couldn’t help myself giving way to superstitious dread. Will you forgive me?’

  Constance stared at him. He looked truly sorry. ‘I ... I suppose so ... but Nella ... can she... is it all right if she comes to visit now and then?’

  John could not disguise his shudder. ‘If she must.’ Then he surprised her. ‘I’m glad I came home early today.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because I’ve just realized that I have been neglecting you. Come, we’ll go up to the sewing room and I’ll show you my latest designs.’

  He reached for her hands and pulled her ge
ntly to her feet. Once she was standing he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the forehead. Constance realized that he had no idea how much she yearned for gestures like this and how she wanted to be held even more closely. She put her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest for a moment but, all too soon, he backed away.

  ‘Come along, up to the sewing room.’

  As she followed him upstairs she wondered if he realized that her sewing room had long ago become the sewing room and that it had been weeks since she had been allowed in there. But she was pleased to be going there now, to be part of John’s dreams and plans for the future.