The House of Flowers

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘Marjorie?’ he asked one morning as she put his papers on the desk in front of him. ‘I’m afraid I have to ask you something. That is if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Marjorie replied, rechecking carefully that she had put all his correspondence in the correct order, and that the files that had been delivered by messenger that morning were still all sealed in their envelopes. Ever since she had observed Eugene’s mysterious meeting with the lady on the bright chestnut horse, Marjorie’s life had become utterly miserable, particularly since the wretched man had followed her back to Poppy’s house.

  ‘Ask me anything you like, sir,’ Marjorie continued, once more checking the seals on a series of large buff envelopes. ‘After all, that’s your privilege.’

  ‘I’ve noticed you’re not quite yourself, Marjorie. At least, you don’t appear to be; that is the impression I have been getting these past few days. Now of course if it’s something personal then it’s absolutely no business of mine—’

  ‘I’m afraid it is.’ Marjorie stopped him as politely as she could. ‘It is personal, so I’d rather you didn’t continue. If it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘Oh.’ For a moment Anthony Folkestone looked hurt. ‘Of course. If it’s something personal, Marjorie, then it’s absolutely no affair of mine. Just as long as you’re all right.’

  ‘I’m fine, sir. Now if there isn’t anything else? I have an absolute mound of work.’

  ‘Thank you, Marjorie. That will be all. Except—’

  Marjorie stopped at the door and turned back.

  ‘Might you be free for a drink tonight? My spies in the shape of mine host tell me a new consignment of gin has just arrived in.’

  ‘I’d love to, sir,’ Marjorie replied carefully. ‘But I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged.’

  ‘I see. Jolly good,’ Anthony said as bravely as he could. ‘Some other time, eh? Some other time and soon as you can, eh?’

  He turned away, trying to hide his disappointment, and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Absolutely, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me?’

  On her way back to the cottage that evening Marjorie passed Kate and Eugene leaving to go out, walking hand in hand down the path and laughing and joking.

  ‘Top of the evening to you, Marjorie Marjoram!’ Eugene called to her with a wave.

  ‘We’re off to the village!’ Kate cried. ‘Why don’t you come and join us?’

  ‘I’d love to!’ Marjorie called back. ‘But I promised I’d help Billy.’

  Billy’s project had given Marjorie another perfect excuse for remaining as uninvolved in the off-duty life at Eden Park as possible. It had been a terrible year as far as the war had gone, and much as everyone tried to keep smiling, privately few could deny how bad everything looked as the year began to draw to a close. The Germans had begun bombing London heavily again, the U-boats were blowing the merchant ship convoys out of the water all but unopposed, Coventry had been blitzed and its wonderful cathedral bombed and burned, a disaster that shocked the British spiritually as well as physically, HMS Hood and Ark Royal had been sunk, the Germans had overrun Crete as well as staging a mighty counter-offensive in North Africa and were apparently taking a winter stroll into Russia, blowing any resistance out of their path. Like most other people in the land Marjorie often went to her bed thinking all was just about to be lost if not lost already, and though the bulldog spirit was still alive in the British, everyone suddenly felt alone, as if their little island was fighting the might of Nazi Germany and her allies all by itself.

  Possibly this was why Billy had decided on what he called a distraction for Christmas. He had written and designed his version of Cinderella which with the help of Kate and Marjorie he was now getting ready to rehearse – with the full co-operation and consent of those willing to take part. Kate had agreed to play Cinderella after Marjorie had turned it down, protesting that she was in no way pretty or talented enough to play the leading role, as well as being blessed with a tin ear and a voice to match; Anthony Folkestone and Corporal Duckworth were to play the Ugly Sisters, Cissie Lavington, much to everyone’s delight, was to appear as the Fairy Godmother, Eugene was to play Prince Charming and Scott Meynell would be the Dame. Billy had done his research as thoroughly as he did everything, finding old copies of traditional pantomimes and rewriting and reworking them to make his show topical for Eden Park and its inhabitants.

  ‘Not you again?’

  Anthony Folkestone looked up as a familiar knock sounded at his office door.

  ‘Sorry, sir. Just wanted to check something,’ Billy said, poking his head round the door. ‘If that’s all right.’

  ‘Long as you’re quick. I’m very busy.’

  ‘I just wanted to check you were all right for this evening’s rehearsal, sir. And that you weren’t thinkin’ of shavin’ off your moustache.’

  ‘I’m fine for the rehearsal, Billy, and I have absolutely no intention of shaving my moustache off. Why?’

  ‘Nothin’, sir. Just that an Ugly Sister’s goin’ to be a whole lot funnier with a moustache, sir.’

  ‘Moustache in place, young man. And ditto for said moustache owner at rehearsals.’

  Anthony Folkestone looked up and smiled at the ever-anxious Billy, wondering what the boy’s adopted sister would make of seeing him dressed up as an Ugly Sister, before concluding that since it seemed she had no intention of even going out for a drink with him at the moment it perhaps didn’t matter one whit.

  ‘I’ve left the full rehearsal times with Miss Budge, sir. She’s going to make sure you know when you got to attend. She’s also going to play the piano for us, which is ace. Didn’t know she could play the joanna. Did you, sir?’

  ‘Not something I thought of asking her, Billy. But then I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment.’

  ‘Probably why you in’t noticed there’s somethin’ not quite right with Marjorie then.’

  Anthony looked up sharply.

  ‘Sorry? Meaning?’

  ‘You in’t noticed Marge has been a bit off lately then? We all have – and I know why. I think she’s got a secret, sir. She’s always been the same. Soon as someone tells her a secret she goes all stiff. Thought you might have noticed somethin’ was up. Anyway – thank you, sir. Sorry to trouble you, sir. TTFN.’

  ‘TTFN?’

  ‘Ta ta for now, sir.’

  And with one last grin Billy disappeared, leaving a bemused Anthony to stare after him.

  * * *

  Billy and his band of helpers were already hard at work making the costumes and building the scenery. One of their stalwarts was Eugene, who set about using his carpentry skills to help build a rock-solid set, work that he carried out while singing Irish ballads at the top of his voice as he sawed and hammered away in his workshop at the back of the stage that had been erected in the ballroom, while a gang of the Nosy Parkers painted the scenery and sewed the costumes.

  Now and then Billy observed how little notice Marjorie took of Eugene whenever he came out of his workshop to put up another piece of his scenery, but said nothing. He had always suspected that his adopted sister did not think Eugene was as wonderful as everyone else did, yet now he noticed they barely spoke. However, since there was nothing he could do about it, he concentrated instead on rehearsing and directing his pantomime, in which he himself was playing Buttons.

  ‘Mum’s the word, eh, Marjorie, me auld segotia?’ Eugene would whisper now and then as he passed Marjorie. ‘Mum’s the auld word, isn’t that right now? We don’t want to go letting no little kitty cats out of the bag now, do we?’

  After which he would wink at her, blow her a mock kiss and disappear back to his workshop, whistling or singing as he went.

  At these moments Marjorie found herself detesting Eugene. For as the days passed she became more and more frightened that she would suddenly blurt out her secret, if not in conversation – at night in her sleep. So anxious did she become that she took to sleeping on the sofa in t
he cottage living room, pretending that Kate talked in her sleep and was keeping her awake. Unsurprisingly her neurotic routine began to take a visible toll on her appearance, so that soon it seemed everyone had a theory.

  ‘Perhaps Marjorie’s our caochán,’ Jack Ward suggested, only half jokingly, at one point. ‘If we’re talking about someone near to the throne.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that, do you, sir?’ Anthony replied. ‘Not with her background? After all, her aunt was one of your people, and the reason Marjorie is here in the first place is because of her Aunt Hester—’

  ‘Of course not,’ Jack cut in, standing as always staring out of the window at the park beyond, his back to Folkestone. ‘I’m just saying anything’s possible, and because it is, we must examine everything – and everyone. I’m quite sure that Marjorie could no more be our caochán than I could be a film star. But that is how wide our thinking has to be.’

  Anthony Folkestone nodded automatically, praying with all his might that their traitor did not turn out to be the object of his affections, his beloved Marjorie. Yet he could not get Billy’s words out of his head. I think she’s got a secret, sir.

  ‘I know what you mean, sir,’ he said after a moment’s reflection. ‘But I really cannot believe young Marjorie is our man, or rather our woman.’ He smiled briefly, and bleakly.

  ‘Nor do I, Tony,’ Jack replied. ‘But we have to keep everyone in the frame. That’s all I’m saying. Everyone.’

  * * *

  Billy stared at the vicar, and the vicar, obviously feeling this, looked round at him from under his tall, tight-curled wig.

  ‘Do I look all right, young Billy?’

  ‘Yes, sir, you look fine, truly you do.’

  ‘I don’t know what my parishioners will say when they see me. I expect they will understand.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir. And it’s really decent of you, really it is. There’s a bit of a run on men at the moment, see, because of the war, obviously, and none of the girls was at all suitable for the role.’

  ‘There has to be a first time for everything, I suppose,’ the vicar continued doubtfully, turning yet again to see how he looked in the long dressing mirror: carrot-coloured wig, red knickerbockers and purple stockings. ‘God help us anyway.’

  ‘You’re the perfect Baron Hardup, Vicar, ’onest.’

  Having reassured him one more time, Billy then darted off, considering the Reverend Morris was making an awful fuss about nothing.

  I mean, he said to himself. I mean it’s not as if he in’t called on to wear what amounts to a frock most days anyway.

  Yet somehow in spite of all the alarms and excursions everything was ready in time for the night of the pantomime, largely thanks to Eugene’s great ability to plan everything down to the last detail. The dress rehearsal had gone as badly as it should, yet in spite of the traditional spate of unrehearsed disasters Billy stood in the wings ready to signal curtain up confident that equally traditionally everything was going to be all right on the night.

  The moment Miss Budge finished playing her overture, a medley of the tunes about to be sung on the stage, Billy cued the spotlight and stepped out in front of the curtain.

  ‘Welcome, ladies and gentlemen all,’ he announced with a flourishing and well-practised bow. ‘Tonight we tell the tale of the poor English maiden Cinderella, and her two beastly Nazi Fräulein cousins, her ugly relations who are fat, ugly, beastly and ever so cruel. In fact they thrives on being beastly to others.’

  Billy was proud of this piece of propaganda; as well he should be for upon the announcement a cheer of approval shot up from the audience.

  ‘The two Ugly Fräuleins steal Cinderella’s invitation to the ball – but as you will see, good ladies and gentlemen all, thanks to Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother, Queen Britannia – well, no – I must stop, gentlefolk, or I shall spoil the story for you all! So please – let our curtain rise on the story of Cinderella which we hopes you will enjoy one and all!’

  From the moment Billy introduced the notion of his two ugly Fräuleins the audience was with him and his wonderfully inventive pantomime. Everyone gathered in the ballroom of Eden Park that night joined in the fun, cheering, booing, clapping, and singing their hearts out during the memorable performance, the greatest laughs of all being reserved for Billy who stopped the show with his performance as Buttons, whom he portrayed as the village simpleton. He played the character for sympathy rather than mockery, yet still managed to get laugh after genuine laugh at the wonder of the lovelorn lad’s simple innocence.

  ‘D’you know, I’m really enjoying myself!’ the Reverend Morris said as he scampered off followed closely by the Ugly Sisters. ‘Can’t recall when I last had as much fun. Maybe I made the wrong choice. Maybe I should have gone into the theatre after all, rather than the Church . . .’

  ‘And for the life of me I don’t know how women cope with these things, do you, Major?’ Scott asked Anthony as he yet again hitched up his brassiere and pushed his falsies back into place.

  But before Anthony could answer, and with a good half an hour of the panto still to run, the wail of the air raid siren broke the spell.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Scott moaned. ‘Blasted Jerries!’

  Everyone gave one great sigh before going straight into their evacuation drill. Whatever the moment, whatever the occasion, the regime was the same – all personnel to the shelters, Home Guard back on duty, sentries posted and C and H Sections off to the caves with their boxes of Top Secret files. And of course nothing could dispel the overwhelming feeling of disappointment which was engulfing everyone, a feeling of utter dejection which was all of a sudden overcome by one of intense mirth when those hurrying to their posts and dugouts were suddenly aware of the farcical events happening around them.

  However serious the threat might be from overhead, no one’s sense of the absurd could resist the sight of Major Folkestone running across the lawns with his huge pantomime falsies bumping up and down, followed by the heroic Scott Meynell, hoisting up long silk skirts while also trying to cope with an overlarge bosom and flying red wig, and pursued by the Reverend Baron Hardup who lost his comedy drawers halfway across the drive, underwear that was swiftly and skilfully gathered up by the leader of the pack of white rats following closely behind him. Finally along the path that led to the woods and thence the underground caves could be seen Cinderella, her Fairy Godmother, Prince Charming and a stream of none too stately courtiers, whipped in by Buttons who was all but helpless with mirth.

  By the time they reached the caves and had collapsed on to various beds and pieces of furniture they were still all prostrate with laughter.

  ‘Only hope Jerry got a view of that through his bombsight,’ Corporal Duckworth said. ‘Might put him off his stroke a bit.’

  ‘Just as it was all going so well,’ someone sighed. ‘What a shame.’

  ‘We can pick up again, don’t worry,’ Billy reassured them. ‘Soon as the raid’s over – the show will go on.’

  ‘That’s the spirit, Billy,’ Scott said, before turning to Eugene. ‘Talking of which, I seem to remember the last time we were down here a certain party hiding away a bottle of the homemade somewhere.’

  ‘You’ll find it filed under P,’ Eugene replied, pointing to a large grey cabinet. ‘P as in poteen.’

  They needed the refreshment as the raid was a long one, too long in fact to allow the pantomime to be concluded that night. But before everyone dispersed back to their beds in the house some two hours later, it had been unanimously agreed that the second act should be played the following evening, the Luftwaffe permitting.

  ‘Great stuff,’ Eugene remarked, raising his bottle of homemade moonshine. ‘Here’s to Act Two tomorrow, everyone!’

  But neither did the performance of Act Two of the pantomime pass by without its share of high drama. This time, however, the unscheduled event was nothing to do with the enemy, but all to do with one of Eden Park’s inhabitants. Halfway thro
ugh the act Billy found himself hijacked and whisked off into the back of the wings by Eugene, who whispered him an urgent message. Billy’s eyes all but started out of his head when he heard, but Eugene’s great hand was clapped over his mouth in order to prevent any audible expression of amazement.

  ‘Not a word, gossoon! I’m warning you now!’ Eugene hissed. ‘Or you’ll end up at the bottom of that lake out there! Understand?’

  Billy nodded his complete compliance with Eugene’s great hand still gagging him.

  ‘Mmmmph!’ he said. ‘Mmmmmmph!’

  Eugene nodded in satisfaction then let him go, pushing him off and away to set about the task he had given the lad, while he himself, also free from any acting duties for the moment, disappeared altogether from the stage to vanish out of one of the side doors of the ballroom and into the winter night.

  He had just enough time to complete his secret mission before he was required back on stage. The last thing he wanted was for attention to be drawn to his absence, or, worst of all, to miss his all important last scene with Cinderella Kate. But Eugene was nothing if not hyper-efficient when needs be, and so was back in the wings and then onstage as Prince Charming in plenty of time to play his final scene.

  Kneeling by Cinderella, Prince Charming found that the satin slipper fitted her dainty foot, and at once proposed marriage to his Cinderella – except that he called her Kate.

  Imagining that he had simply made a mistake, Kate continued as scripted in her role as Cinderella, accepting the Prince’s proposal with modest delight, whereupon Eugene suddenly leapt to his feet, pulled off his silver wig and made his astonishing declaration.