‘Actually I was at the first night,’ he said, frowning down at the salmon on his plate as if it had insulted him. ‘I loved it. I particularly loved the circus scene. However – if you don’t mind my asking, Miss Danby, however do they get that horse onstage every night? And night after night?’
‘Well now,’ May said with a smile. ‘It’s funny you should ask that, because it is quite a funny story. The dear old white horse which Teddy Payne has to ride on to the stage into the circus ring used to earn his living pulling an omnibus. But when they first tried to get him to go onstage he refused point blank, and no-one could get him to move. Not until the stage manager finally found the trick which was to stand behind the horse in the wings and shout Charing Cross! Strand! Bank! Piccadilly! Oxford Circus! and then have someone else bang the green-room door closed with a shout of Right behind! whereupon the old horse trotted happily onstage.’
‘That’s what happens every night?’
‘Every night.’
‘Gosh,’ May’s admirer said. ‘I must listen out for that in future. Heavens.’ He pushed his hair back from his forehead and for the first time since they had met looked at May directly, although only for an instant before twisting his mouth shyly and dropping his gaze back down to his plate.
‘Have you really been to see the show forty times?’ May asked him, to which her admirer nodded enthusiastically, managing to drop the piece of salmon he’d just carefully speared off his fork onto his lap. ‘I don’t remember any of us getting any flowers or notes or anything from a Mr Smith.’
‘No, well, that’s not my real name,’ John frowned, managing as usual not quite to catch May’s eyes. ‘Um – I’m the Marquess of Cordrey.’
‘Even so, no-one got any notes or flowers,’ May teased with a straight face. ‘Or did they?’
‘Gosh, no-one would, Miss Danby! No-one except – well – except you, that is.’ Lord Cordrey glanced at May and then looked at the piece of salmon he’d dropped on the floor as if wondering whether or not to pick it up. ‘Thing is, do you see, one didn’t much see the point.’
‘Oh,’ May exclaimed, as if deeply offended, which made Lord Cordrey change his mind about picking up the piece of salmon and frown at her with the greatest concern.
‘Oh no – I mean heavens,’ he said. ‘What one meant by no point isn’t at all what you think! One meant – well. One meant one thought one had no chance. Apparently, so they say, every m-masher in London is after you. That you’re the toast of the town.’
May had only meant to tease him, but realized that she might have gone too far for besides Portia’s pug dog she had never before in her life seen anyone look so anxious. The whole of Lord Cordrey’s face seemed to pucker and his eyebrows disappeared right up underneath his fringe.
‘Did you not know then that I haven’t been out with one masher? With one stage-door Johnnie?’ May enquired of him, now much less teasingly. ‘I have made it a principle of mine not to go out with anyone of their sort.’
‘I see,’ Lord Cordrey muttered. ‘And I suppose since you must count one as such, then there really is no point in one – erm – in one – say – well. In one inviting you out, as it were. To supper, that is, or something.’
‘There is every point,’ May replied, an assurance which was at once rewarded with a brief but delighted smile. ‘But please do not ask me from the theatre because as I said I promised myself I would never accept an invitation which arrived at the stage door. The reasons need not concern you because they might seem trivial, or even worse – baffling.’ May laughed and then smiled at the young man who was frowning earnestly at her, while nervously chewing more at his mouth than his food. ‘It’s just that I do not like going back on my word to myself, do you see? It is, put simply, the way I was brought up.’
‘I think that is admirable, Miss Danby,’ Lord Cordrey replied, finally deciding to pick up the errant piece of salmon after all and bending down only to find Henry Pug already inspecting it. It appeared, however, that fish was not Henry Pug’s favourite food, for having given it a thorough snuffle he turned up his wrinkled nose at the titbit and trotted off. ‘What was I saying? I’m sorry, one’s lost the thread a bit.’
‘You were saying that it was admirable that I didn’t want to go out with mashers, Lord Cordrey,’ May replied.
‘Oh, was I? Oh yes, right,’ Lord Cordrey agreed. ‘Right. Right.’
‘I promise you it has nothing to do with any high-mindedness. Where would we Gaiety girls be without our mashers and our stage-door Johnnies? It’s just that I don’t think it’s fair to take supper off someone I might not like, and how do I know whether or not I like them until I have met them properly?’
‘No – and that is what one meant. Or means,’ Lord Cordrey quickly agreed, now managing almost to knock over his glass of champagne. ‘Heavens – sorry. No, what one means is quite right. Absolutely right. That is perfectly understandable, except the only thing is, you see – how can one get to know you if one can’t – say – well. Take you out to supper?’
‘One could get to know one over dinner in a friend’s house,’ May teased with a smile. ‘Like this, could one not?’
Now Lord Cordrey looked at her properly for the first time and smiled, although the smile was all in his eyes. It seemed he hardly dared use his mouth too expressively, for instead of allowing it to relax into the smile that was in his eyes he permitted it just to crinkle a little at one corner.
‘Now that, Miss Danby, is a simply – well.’ He nodded as he thought about exactly what it really was. ‘Do you know, that’s a simply splendid notion?’
Later when everyone had moved upstairs Signor Tosti sat himself down at the grand piano in the first floor drawing room and began to improvise some of his own melodies, accompanied by Henry Pug who now sat most endearingly beside him on the piano stool. Meanwhile May and Lord Cordrey slowly drew apart from the rest of the guests who were all busy as they had been all evening conducting passionate conversations about fashion, art, music, the theatre, literature and politics, yet probably none of these lively debates was in any way as truly ardent as the quiet conversation the two young people were enjoying in the corner of the room. Finally Lord Cordrey asked the question they both knew he must ask now that they had come this far, and that concerned the seriousness of her theatrical aspirations.
‘I would like more than anything I know to succeed at it, Lord Cordrey,’ May said with perfect honesty. ‘The trouble is I don’t think I am able. I really do not feel I have whatever it is that is required in me. So I am afraid I shall be disappointed.’
‘But it is something you want, if one can say so, that much. Yes? Because I do see. When there is something one wants so much one could die for it – yes. Yes, I – I really do understand.’
‘Is there something you want, Lord Cordrey?’ May asked.
‘Gosh, yes. I mean – yes, certainly there is,’ Lord Cordrey said, suddenly finding something else on the floor at which to stare. ‘But then you see – you see perhaps one doesn’t quite have the necessary requirements, rather like you, do you see.’
‘Can I ask you what it is you want?’
‘Well. Actually that’s quite difficult, do you see. To answer, one means,’ Lord Cordrey said, still staring at the floor. ‘Because you see what one wants more than anything – that is, what one wants is you.’
Now it was May’s turn to be silenced.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said after a moment, but by then Lord Cordrey had begun to look around them at the room. ‘I’m sorry, but what exactly do you mean, Lord Cordrey? Do you mean—?’
‘No, look,’ he returned quickly, brushing away the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. ‘One really shouldn’t have – you know. Well. I’m sorry. And one’s kept you far too late, because look, Miss Danby. Everyone is going home. This really won’t do at all, I’m most terribly sorry.’
‘No, it’s all right—’
‘No it isn’t. I’m sorry, but it is
n’t. You have been working this evening, and one has been extremely thoughtless. I shall get one’s carriage to take you home at once. This instant.’
‘It’s really all right, Lord Cordrey,’ May assured him, anxious to finish their conversation, or at least have Lord Cordrey explain what he had meant, even though May had more than a suspicion of his intent. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing beside the fireplace. ‘There is no cause for concern because our hostess hasn’t left us. Lady Childhays is still here.’
Lord Cordrey glanced where May was pointing and then got up.
‘Even so, Miss Danby, it was an unforgivable breach of manners. I will have my carriage take you home immediately. Although I do have to say—’ He stopped and cleared his throat. ‘One really does have to say – um. May I say, Miss Danby, this really has been the very best of evenings. In fact one would go as far as to say the very best of – well. Of them all really.’
‘Thank you, Lord Cordrey,’ May replied with a smile. ‘I would agree with that sentiment entirely.’
‘Would you?’ he wondered with a sudden deep frown. ‘Would you really? Right. Good. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me—’ And with that he was gone to find his footman.
* * *
When she got back to her little one-roomed flat in Cork Street May barely slept for what was left of the night. She knew it was ridiculous to be feeling the way she did after one brief encounter, but there was no doubting the sincerity of either her own feelings or those of her bashful suitor. And even if he had not exactly proposed to her when he had tried to explain what it was that he wanted there was no denying he had fallen for her, and now May found there was no denying she had fallen for him. So she lay awake trying to decide what she might do, not what she would do because Lord Cordrey had not yet formally or even informally proposed to her, but what she might do were he to propose marriage to her. She would have to choose between him and the theatre, she realized, because were he to propose and were she to accept there would be no possibility of the future Duchess of Wokingham’s continuing her career as one of the Big Eight.
Nor should the choice be as difficult as it was appearing to be, since by now May was convinced she was never going to make the grade. Even as recently as the day before yesterday at understudy rehearsals she had exasperated her Italian singing tutor so much he had thrown a book at her while shouting that it was high time someone made a woman of her by engaging her emotions. That, her teacher had assured her, might at last introduce a little reality into his leetle nun’s life.
And now someone had and as soon as he had she was thinking of giving up the theatre in order to get married.
‘Talk about renouncing one’s vows,’ she sighed as she settled her head into her pillows. ‘Perhaps I really should have been a nun.’
When she awoke it was midday and there was someone hammering on her front door.
It seemed Ellaline Terris had lost the baby she was expecting. It was her first and she was only a few months pregnant, but the miscarriage was a bad one and the leading lady of The Circus Girl was desperately ill.
‘No,’ May pleaded with the Guv’nor. ‘You must put Joyce on, not me. Joyce has taken over at the last minute before, I never have, so please, Mr Edwardes, please please put Joyce on.’
‘Obviously you haven’t heard,’ the Guv’nor replied, clutching his chubby face with one hand. ‘Joyce has got tonsils and can’t speak a word. So unless you want to be the first actress in the history of the theatre to keep a show from going on, particularly a George Edwardes show, get yourself ready, my girl, and be there when they call Beginners.’
She was there, of course she was. It wasn’t the trouper in May that had her standing ready in the wings, it was her spirit, her integrity and her sense of honour. May Danby could not let anyone down, not the Guv’nor, not the people who had paid to see the show, and not the company with whom she now shared her life. She had been trained not to disappoint people, and whether it was the training she received at the convent or whether it was in her blood it is impossible to say, but for whatever reason May Danby was ready to go onstage the moment she was called.
Of the first part of the show she remembered little. All she knew was that she did not fall over, bump into her fellow performers or forget one line. In fact as if in a dream she could hear laughter and applause, although she had no idea whether it was for her or for other members of the cast, or even for the fact that she was somehow getting through the show. All she knew was that the wagon did not stop rolling. The music played, the people around her sang, she sang, she spoke and no-one brought the curtain down.
It wasn’t until she was alone on stage and halfway through Ellaline Terris’s famous number ‘Just a Little Bit of String’ that she began to come to her senses, and the moment she did she thought she would die. It was only a moment though, a split second when suddenly she woke up and found where she was, but in that split second she looked down and saw him, in the third row, in his usual seat. But he didn’t have his opera glasses and the fact that he did not enabled her to see his face. He was looking up at her – not away, not down on the ground, not at the ceiling above him but at her – and though he was frowning she knew the frown was to will her on, to tell her she could do it, to tell her that he loved her and not only he but everyone around him, and once she saw that look, once her eyes met his, the moment of reality passed and May was back in the land of make-believe, singing like a little lark, singing with all her heart, singing about
Just a little bit of string
Such a tiny little thing
Tied as tightly as a string could be,
So that if I tried to play
I could never slip away
For they’d put me on a string, you see—
singing until the song was ended and the applause was deafening her.
And a red rose landed at her feet.
When the curtain rose for the cast to take their bows they cheered her to the echo, the belle of the ball and now the belle of the Gaiety. There were lots of flowers, carnations and roses from mashers’ buttonholes, bouquets from the Guv’nor and the cast. They cheered her to the roof of the theatre and would not let her go, but seat 18 in row C was empty.
She thought he might be at the stage door so she asked Jimmy Jupp but there was no sign of or word from the Marquess of Cordrey. Nor did he come to the show the next week, not on the Tuesday, the Thursday or the Saturday, even though May was still playing and still taking the famous theatre by storm every night.
‘Why do you think it is, Gracie?’ she enquired of her fellow performer after the last performance on the Saturday night. ‘And what do you think I should do?’
‘Why I think it is, May duck, is ’cos he thinks you’ve chosen the theatre over him, and if it was me I know what I’d bloomin’ well do,’ Gracie said, taking off her costume. ‘I know you’re thinkin’ it’s up to him reely, but it in’t. It’s up to you, and if I was you and I loved ’im – do you love him, May? I mean you in’t exactly said, ’ave you?’
‘Yes, Gracie,’ May replied, stopping for a moment in the act of taking off her makeup. ‘Yes, I do love him, of course I do.’
‘Then if it’s a question of of course what the ’ell you on abaht? This is all play-acting, duck. We’re just a lot of little kids still messin’ about in the playground. An’ all that love aht there—’ Gracie cocked her pretty head vaguely in the direction of the auditorium. ‘That’s only as good as it is till the next beauty comes along and knocks yer orf your bleedin’ pedestal, right? While love an’ marriage – yeah, all right. So not every marriage is a bed of roses like, but if it is—’ Gracie sighed and her big blues eyes went all dreamy. ‘Just think what it’ll be like, May, “avin” a bloke wot really loves you rarver than wot ’e can get aht of you. “Avin” a beautiful bloke like that and “avin” his babies an’ orl. And ’im going to be a duke too. I mean that in’t ’alf bad, May darlin’, ’tickerly not if you loves ’im.’
‘
Yes I know, Gracie, and I do,’ May protested. ‘But I mean why now? Why now just when I’ve found out I’ve got it! That I can act! That I can do the thing I’ve always wanted to do! Why now?’
‘Don’t be daft!’ Gracie said scornfully. ‘You done it, in’t you? You proved to yourself you can do it an’ you done it! An’ you’ll always know that you done it! But if you don’t do this—’ Gracie pulled a terrible melodramatic face. ‘Blimey,’ she said, ‘now that really would be somefing to regret, wouldn’t it just?’
‘Yes,’ May said slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’
‘Course I’m right, duck,’ Gracie replied. ‘An’ if you’re worried abaht not actin’ no more, you needn’t. Being married to a duke and you bein’ a bleedin’ duchess in charge of some massive great pile is goin’ to use up every single last one of all the famous actin’ skills you got, my girl!’
THE TRIUMPH
Everyone who was anyone was there, more so even than at the Petworth débâcle, the difference being that everyone who came to this particular feast wanted to do so for no ulterior reason. It was hardly surprising since the old Duke of Wokingham was a well-connected and enormously popular figure, which was the reason that everyone who was anyone made sure that they were present. But in fairness to Society they also came to celebrate, seeing in the marriage of this former debutante and Gaiety Girl a triumph for both beauty and democracy and since even the crustiest heart can have a romantic turn, finding excitement in the promised spectacle of beauty, wealth and lineage uniting in love.
Of course there were some who were there who had followed May from the first, in effect her public, those who had first seen her as a debutante only to marvel the following year whenever they had flocked to see the shows in which she had appeared as a member of the famous Big Eight. These were the people who now lined the streets as her carriage passed on its way to the abbey, throwing white roses into her open landau, and seeing in this match of a daughter of the stage and the son of a duke a crossing of the lines, of the invisible divide which kept Them away from Us, a romance in keeping with the trend of the times.
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