Sadly even that route brought no immediate success, for when May was given her first solo speaking role in The Shop Girl she either froze on her cue or said her lines so quietly she was inaudible even to the front row of the stalls. This brought about good-natured barracking from both the ‘mashers’ and those in the gods, who called out that there was no need for such a corker to be able to speak let alone be heard, but after the curtain fell May pleaded with the Guv’nor to put her back where she was happiest, namely among the Big Eight where oddly enough she was able to sing and dance with the greatest ease and confidence, or to let her go altogether.
‘Over my dead body do I let you go, young lady,’ the Guv’nor replied. ‘People would queue round the block just to see you stand still on stage without saying nothing. But if you want to go back in the Big Eight, I agree. Because I know what you do not seem to know, and that is that it’s only a question of time. It might be six weeks, it might be six months, it might be a year, but one day – you just mark my words.’
Even so, despite George Edwardes’ open declarations of confidence in her, when the time came to cast his new show The Circus Girl the Guv’nor wasn’t going to run any risks, and believing that his protégée hadn’t yet made sufficient improvement he resisted the temptation to cast her in a solo speaking role and kept her in the Big Eight.
‘Thank you, Mr Edwardes,’ she said when the lists had gone up and she had sought the Guv’nor out in his office opposite the stage door in Wellington Street. ‘But perhaps we should let this be my last chance, don’t you think?’
‘What I think with respect is that you should have become a nun, May dear, the way you go on at yourself,’ the Guv’nor replied, polishing one of the green apples which lay as always in a bowl on his desk. ‘What is it those holy orders do? Yes – scourge themselves. You’d have been good at that, young lady. You don’t give yourself a proper chance.’
‘I’m only trying to be honest, Mr Edwardes,’ May replied. ‘I don’t want to give up. I love the theatre, and I love being in your company. But if I’m no good I just don’t think it’s fair to take up the place that someone with real talent could be filling. So what I propose is that I stay with the show until the end of the run, but if I still haven’t proved myself by then I shall give up the theatre and return, albeit sadly, to real life.’
‘Very well, May dear,’ George Edwardes agreed, sinking his teeth into yet another green apple. ‘On one condition. That during the run of the show you understudy Miss Terris.’
‘I couldn’t,’ May said, shocked. ‘I mean I couldn’t. I mean suppose I had to go on, Mr Edwardes—’
‘Then you’d have to go on, Miss Danby,’ George Edwardes interrupted with a chuckle. ‘That is the name of the game. The understudy goes on because the show must go on. Now that’s an order, my lovely. And if you don’t like it, I won’t keep my end of the bargain but instead will hold you to your contract.’
‘I think somebody else should understudy Miss Terris, Mr Edwardes,’ May insisted. ‘After all she will be playing the leading role.’
‘Someone else will be understudying her, Miss Danby.’
‘Oh good.’ May sighed happily. ‘I hoped you might just be joking.’
‘No, I wasn’t joking,’ George Edwardes replied. ‘There will be two understudies for such an important part, like there often are. And one of them’s going to be you. Now run along. I have business to attend to.’
* * *
The Circus Girl was acknowledged to be an altogether brilliant show and was so well received that the Guv’nor knew he was in for yet another long run. This pleased him not only for financial reasons but also because he believed it would give him all the time he needed to work on his protégée and make her into not just a star but perhaps even his most famous one to date. As for May, she greatly enjoyed her run in the show. Not only was the first night one of the most brilliant ever seen in London, with a glittering Society audience led by his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, but it was the Guv’nor’s most glamorous and lavish production so far, with superb costumes and wonderful scenery. In fact so realistic were both the circus acts and the artists’ ball in Paris that nightly each scene brought gasps and storms of applause for the settings and depiction alone. As for Ellaline Terris, not only did she stop the show with a number called ‘Just a Little Bit of String’ which became instantly famous but much to the relief of one of her understudies she seemed to be in the rudest of health.
And as usual in a successful George Edwardes show, the Society Johnnies and the mashers delighted to train their opera glasses on the Big Eight who with the inclusion of the famous May Danby were considered to be the finest Gaiety Girls yet. So good were they in fact that a visit to the Gaiety prompted no less a critic than Max Beerbohm to write that:
As always the surpassing joy is the chorus. The look of total surprise that overspreads the faces of these ladies whenever they saunter onto the stage and behold us for the first time, making us feel that we have rather taken a liberty in being there: the faintly cordial look that appears for the fraction of an instant in the eyes of one of them who happens to see a friend among us – the splendid nonchalance of those queens, all so proud, so fatigued, all seeming to wonder why they were born, and born to be so beautiful.
All of which splendidly sophisticated attention pleased the Guv’nor inordinately.
The success of the show also prompted even longer lines outside the stage door as the Johnnies and the mashers awaited their assignations with those in the chorus who having caught their eye had then been showered with gifts of jewellery as a prelude to an invitation to supper at Romano’s at the very least, while those lucky enough to secure a date with one of the Big Eight would wait for their girls in hansom cabs outside the stage door where they would generally greet them with a bunch of orchids before whisking them off to the Savoy Grill or the Carlton to dine on pâté de foie gras or plovers’ eggs, followed by roast chicken washed down liberally with the best champagne.
May was of course inundated with gifts and invitations from opening night onwards. To escort her to the Savoy or to spend the day with her punting on the Thames from Skindles Hotel in Maidenhead was every young masher’s dream, a dream which none of them ever realized because May declined every invitation she received as indeed she returned every present.
‘What is it wiv you anyway, May duck?’ one of her friends from the chorus line asked her one night after the show, a girl nicknamed Greasy Gracie whose father was a gravedigger in Walthamstow. ‘It’s not as if you’re a snob ’cos you ain’t. An’ it’s not as if you don’t like men ’cos you do, ’cos you said so. So why don’t you never go out wiv any of these nobs then? ’Cos believe you me, some of them geezers what send you round all these fancy presents in’t half from the top drawers.’
‘It’s hard to explain, Gracie,’ May replied. ‘But the way I look at it is that if I accept one of these invitations blindly without knowing whom I am going out with then I might as well accept them all, if only to be fair on everyone. But since I couldn’t possibly do that without exhausting myself entirely then I thought it best not to go out with any of them.’
‘Nah,’ Gracie said after giving herself time to digest May’s reasoning. ‘Nah, that’s just plumb daft, that is. You won’t never get to go out with no-one that way.’
‘Nobody whom I don’t know I won’t,’ May replied. ‘I just think it would be dreadfully unfair if I accepted an invitation to go to the Savoy, shall we say, to eat an expensive dinner and drink champagne when I’ve found out within the first few minutes that I don’t like the person who’s taking me out. I just don’t think that’s fair.’
‘Gor blimey,’ Gracie laughed. ‘When it comes to men, duck, I don’t think there’s never anything what you could call fair.’
Even so May kept her word, but of course the more she refused the more the Society Johnnies and the mashers besieged her. Soon there were stories of large amounts of money wagered
by young men who reckoned they would be the ones to succeed where others had so lamentably failed, rumours which only deterred May further from accepting any invitation.
She had however noticed one particular admirer, but then it would have been impossible not to do so, seeing that he came to the show three times every week – Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday – and always sat in the same seat. From the little that May could gather about him he always came alone and belonged to no known set. In fact all that seemed to be known about him was that he went by the unlikely name of John Smith.
Mr Smith sat centre in the third row of the stalls so was clearly visible from the stage, except whenever May was on stage all she could see of Mr Smith was a pair of opera glasses trained solely on her, even though he was only sitting a matter of yards away. Finally her curiosity overcame her and one night after one of her appearances in the show which did not necessitate a lightning fast change May went quickly to the side of the proscenium arch where someone had cut a small peephole in order to get a better look at her admirer.
He was older than she had thought him to be, possibly in his late twenties, with a handsome but rather serious countenance underneath a loose shock of hair which seemed nearly as blond as her own famous locks. His features were very fine and well proportioned leading May to assume that he was well bred, but that was about all she could tell of him since she had no idea of that all-important masculine attribute namely his height, nor could anything be made of the style of person he might be, since he was wearing precisely the same cut of evening dress as any of the other young men in the stalls and dress circle. But as she watched him watching Connie Ediss who was presently on stage singing her show-stopping comedy number ‘The Way to Treat a Lady’ she saw him laugh, and in doing so his face came alive with such good humour and genuine enthusiasm that May, who had been about to dash off and get changed, stayed watching him until a whispered prompt from the stage manager sent her on her way to her dressing room, curious now as to who exactly her admirer might be.
Yet, enticingly, he never sent round a present or a note. During the first hundred performances of the show, a large percentage of which it had to be acknowledged Mr Smith had attended, he had never once tried to attract May’s attention to himself other than by his presence. There was no doubt that the reason he came to see the show was not the show itself, because by now through the peephole May saw that in between her appearances he would doze, or lean back to stare up at the ornate ceiling high above him. He had no real interest in anything else to do with The Circus Girl, and although he still applauded Connie Ediss and Ellaline Terris when they sang their now famous individual numbers, he no longer laughed as he once did, nor did he lean forward as he once had during the circus scene. The only time he showed any real interest was when May Danby came on stage, and whenever she did his opera glasses would be in place even before she had appeared from the wings. For this reason May nicknamed him to herself ‘my Silent Follower’. He was, however, always gone by the time the cast took their last curtain call, but then that had always been his habit, at least ever since May had taken note of him.
* * *
The Guv’nor threw a party for the hundredth performance on stage after the show. It was strictly by invitation and Jimmy Jupp, the Guv’nor’s famous stage doorkeeper, was under stricter instructions than ever to make sure that no uninvited stage-door Johnnies or mashers should set foot inside his theatre. Edwardes looked after his girls, and he expected those who took them out to do the same, so much so that by now it was traditional for the young gentlemen about town to drive the girls home after they had taken them out to supper.
It was a lavish party with plenty to eat and drink to mark the Guv’nor’s delight with his company and the success of the show, and to match his hospitality he had made sure the guest list was as distinguished a one as he could assemble. Consequently May recognized many of the faces she had seen during her Season, a recognition that was reciprocated by many of the guests who remembered her with great affection.
Best of all she found herself reunited with Portia Tradescant, who was accompanied by her husband Lord Childhays who May learned had in fact invested substantially and as it turned out wisely in the show. With them in their party were Aunt Tattie and Mr Shore who it appeared were now inseparable companions, much to Portia’s undisguised delight as May learned when Lord Childhays finally excused himself to go and talk to the Guv’nor about his future plans. Then Portia was able to bring May, who was now after all well away from what had once been their mutual world, up to date with news of many acquaintances, and in particular Lady Emily whose social disgrace had been compounded in the view of London Society, Portia told May albeit very much tongue in cheek, by her recent marriage to an Irishman.
‘But what of you?’ Portia wanted to know, finding of a sudden that it was hard not to feel just a little jealous of May’s freedom. ‘From being the toast of Society to being the toast of the Gaiety—’
‘Hardly.’ May laughed. ‘Just a member of the Big Eight, that’s me.’
‘No, no,’ Portia insisted. ‘All we hear is the sound of weeping and wailing from all the eligible young men you have turned away and left broken-hearted for their pains. Is it really true? Have you eschewed social life altogether?’
‘No, of course I haven’t!’
‘But it is true, as reported in the newspapers, that no-one can get you to accept an invitation?’
‘Not via the stage door they cannot,’ May agreed. ‘I just do not think that is the correct way.’
‘Good,’ Portia agreed. ‘If I were you I imagine I’d think the same. But perhaps you’ll accept an invitation from us? At least we are familiar to you, if only remotely!’
‘What nonsense,’ May retorted. ‘I should love to come and see you and your charming husband.’
‘Charming husband gives some rather good late night dinner parties at our house in Charles Street every Saturday night,’ Portia told her. ‘Why don’t you come next Saturday? Even though I say so myself they are acknowledged to be the greatest fun, full of what Willy calls his clean-shirted bohemians. You never know who you’re going to meet, a duchess or a music hall star. Do come.’
‘Yes, I will,’ May agreed. ‘I shall hurry along straight after the show.’
‘There’s no need to hurry,’ Portia replied with a smile. ‘We usually carry on well past midnight.’
* * *
They had only just sat down to dinner by the time May arrived at the house the following Saturday night. From a quick look she guessed there must be well over two dozen guests in the dining room although it was hard to know exactly because some of them were on the move, changing places or standing up to eat while they talked either to someone sitting in front of them or to a small group standing nearby. It was certainly informal and from the sound of laughter, the music and the constant flow of the conversation, everyone thinking of something to say at once, it was certainly fun as well, just as Portia had promised.
‘May!’ Portia called as soon as she saw her, squeezing her way past an Italian-looking man who was sitting at an upright piano in one corner of the room, playing a selection of hits from the Guv’nor’s current shows with Henry Pug sitting on his knee with his head thrown back singing mournfully. ‘May, how lovely to see you. Now come over here with me while we fetch you something to eat and then tell me whom you would like to meet.’
‘I know no-one here,’ May began. ‘Besides Jimmy Davis, of course,’ she said, spotting the joint author and composer of The Geisha, the most fashionable of George Edwardes’ hits. ‘And Bessie of course,’ she added. ‘Bessie Bellwood – oh, and Letty Lind too is here, so I am well away. So you have no need to look after me. Who is accompanying your little dog at the piano?’
‘Signor Tosti,’ Portia said. ‘If we’re lucky he might play some of his own music after supper. Now do come and meet some people whom you don’t know. Because I know you theatricals. You love to get in a corner and gos
sip like fury. This is Lord and Lady de Tresco who were at your show tonight and enjoyed it awfully, and who else? Yes – Jack Hicks who is a painter friend of ours and oh – someone else I think you do know. The Duke of Wokingham’s son John.’
‘I don’t think so,’ May replied. ‘I certainly don’t remember the Duke of Wokingham from our Season, so what makes you think I know his son?’
‘You wouldn’t remember the duke, May, because nowadays the poor man is a permanent invalid, unfortunately,’ Portia replied. ‘But you most certainly know his son John.’
‘Do I? John who? Or what rather?’
‘John Smith,’ said a shy voice behind her. ‘Row C seat 18.’
He was one of the shyest people May had ever met. Not embarrassingly so to the point that those meeting him or talking to him either wished that they hadn’t or tried to help him over his shyness by talking for him, nor was he timid or unassertive. He was simply that old-fashioned thing, endearingly bashful. As soon as May addressed a comment directly to him he would either blush and bite his lower lip, or pull a slightly awkward face and stare down at his shoes. Yet neither was he unsophisticated or in the slightest bit ingenuous. He was extremely knowledgeable about the theatre and extensively travelled as a consequence, having been to Paris, Rome, New York and wherever any new play was about to receive its premiere. By questioning him endlessly with her usual good humour, by the time they found two empty places at the supper table May had learned that he did not usually make it a habit to go to every musical comedy, although the new style of theatre was very much the rage, but he confessed that he had been to The Circus Girl by his approximate reckoning about forty times.
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