The Hidden Dance

by Susan Wooldridge

  ‘Splendid. Ah, Matty, my dear.’ M’lord jumped eagerly to his feet and waved at a young woman crossing the lounge towards him. Dressed in a discreet grey suit, the only decoration being dark-blue velvet collar and cuffs, the young woman’s serious face broke into a bubbly smile as she drew alongside.

  ‘Hello, you two, what are you plotting? You look up to something.’

  ‘Having a bit of a flutter on the Totaliser, my dear.’

  ‘’Afternoon, Miss Grossman,’ said Billy, and the young woman smiled back at him.

  Although to the bellboy she was nothing out of the ordinary, it was instantly plain m’lord thought her the prettiest girl in the world.

  ‘She’s Lord Clairmont’s nurse,’ Tommy the German barman had told him the day before, and Tommy, as the Paris lounge’s head barman – its eyes and ears, so to speak – could always be trusted to come up with good-quality passenger gossip. So Billy had asked, ‘What’s he need a nurse for?’

  ‘Just been diagnosed with the diabetes. Very dangerous.’

  ‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

  ‘Es ist sehr schade,’ Tommy had said and disappeared up the bar, leaving Billy none the wiser.

  The young nurse now sat in a chair Lord Henry held out for her.

  ‘Thank you for your trouble, Mr Bottle.’ A coin changed hands. ‘I look forward to receiving the news of our gambling endeavours.’

  Billy made a swift bow and set off for his post by the door. He gave the room a quick once-over and was about to leave when he noticed Lord Henry lean quickly in and take the nurse’s hand. The girl, however, swivelled away and, glancing from side to side, firmly put her gloved hands back in her lap. It was only then Billy saw she was smiling and, for some reason, the pair burst out laughing.

  This is all a bit pally for a nurse and patient, thought Billy. What’s going on here? He moved in closer.

  ‘Come on, Nurse Matilda, let’s have a bottle of fizz,’ the young man was saying.

  ‘Oh Henry, really.’

  ‘But I’m thirsty, Mats.’

  ‘You and your thirsts, very convenient.’

  ‘I think I’m allowed a celebratory drink, just this once. Please, Nurse?’ And giving a great grin, m’lord clasped the girl’s hand once more. This time Billy saw he wasn’t going to let it go. ‘Oh Matty, oh lor, I didn’t know it would be so impossibly difficult. Did you?’

  Before Nurse Grossman could respond, a dark shadow fell across the couple and a booming voice shattered the hush of the Paris lounge. ‘Good afternoon to you, Lord Clairmont.’

  ‘Oh – ah – good day, Lady Slocombe.’ M’lord scrambled to his feet and turned reluctantly to face the bulky woman standing squarely before him.

  Oh no, here she is again, thought Billy, and dived back to his post where, safely tucked away, he watched.

  ‘Lord Clairmont,’ Lady Slocombe began with her customary bark, ‘my companion, Dora Carroll, and I are getting up a four for Bridge this evening. We do so hope you will join us.’

  The invitation extended, it was only now Billy realised the woman was doing all she could to ignore the young nurse. She stood with her back to the seated girl, her large behind all but in her face. And sadly this rudeness was having the desired effect for jolly Miss Grossman was now sitting hunched sideways in her chair, her head bowed.

  Very gently m’lord turned and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, and though his face remained calm, Billy suspected he was boiling mad. Only yesterday the bellboy’d been told by Tommy, ‘Such a furore from that woman each evening when Lord Clairmont arrives to dine with his nurse. She is in a fury at this “nobody” sharing the table. Schutt! Frau Slocombe would challenge Herr Hitler himself. But always his lordship so good-mannered.’

  As if to confirm this, Lord Clairmont now politely said, ‘Thank you, Lady Slocombe, but I’m afraid Miss Grossman and I must decline. Neither of us are very good at Bridge.’

  ‘What a shame,’ replied the large woman smoothly. ‘And will your little nurse be dining with us again this evening?’ At this enquiry she turned and smiled down at the girl, her heavily powdered face creasing like the Nile’s delta, her big teeth yellow and gleaming. ‘You must be so grateful to Lord Clairmont,’ she continued creamily, ‘for the enormous privilege of being picked to dine at the captain’s table. And every evening, too.’

  There was a slight pause and Miss Grossman rose to her feet. Holding her head high, she looked straight at her ladyship. ‘Yes, Lady Slocombe. Indeed the whole voyage is turning into quite an education.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, Miss Grossman,’ replied her ladyship suavely, holding the girl’s look.

  A silence hung between them.

  Then, much to Billy’s surprise, it was the older woman who broke first. ‘Where is that wretched barman?’ she snapped.

  Billy could have cheered – the nurse wasn’t going to be bullied, after all – she’d got the old biddy on the hop.

  ‘Your ladyship?’ As if by magic, Tommy had appeared at her side.

  ‘And about time too,’ the woman grumbled. ‘I will have a little soda water before I take another turn around the deck. It has become unpardonably stuffy in here.’ So saying she sailed away, creating a little breeze upon which lingered a strong smell of mothballs.

  ‘That woman is a bully,’ said Lord Henry quite clearly.

  The nurse sank down into her chair and, picking up a little menu card, started to fan herself; Billy saw her face had gone bright red. ‘Why is that woman so angry with me?’

  ‘Well, if it’s any consolation, you’re in fine company. She’s always detested Mother. Mainly for being American, I think. Mind you, Mother maintains Lady Lavinia is actually an ox and when she dies she’ll be made into Bovril!’

  Billy almost laughed but the nurse didn’t. Not even a smile. ‘Why does she spoil everything, Henry? For everyone. If it wasn’t me, I’m sure she’d be horrible to someone else.’

  ‘It’s her life’s work to make everyone as unhappy as she is. She’s just a bitter old boot. Come on, enough of all this. Walk on deck. Fresh air required.’

  ‘But Henry, it’s nearly—’

  But the young man wasn’t listening. Billy watched as he pulled the nurse from her chair and gently led her from the room.

  Covent Garden, London. 1904

  The two little girls were sitting at the front of the box and as the heavy red velvet curtains swooped together and fell to the stage, they joined in with the rest of the audience and clapped and clapped.

  Lily turned to her new friend. She was called Harriet and she was ten years old, too. Together they bounced off their spindly chairs and hung over the velvet ledge. Below, the beautiful people swirled and chatted in the glowing rose and gold theatre, frills and fizzing curls, long white kid gloves, floaty fans waving and fluttering. Shouts and laughter. It was wonderful. Harriet and Lily, the two new friends, grinned at each other.

  Behind them, their hostess, Lady Durston, called out, ‘Ices all round.’ A footman bowed to the old lady and retired.

  ‘Isn’t this fun, children?’ she beamed, and Lily and Harriet scrambled back over the velvet box-edge.

  But despite the fun, they were all aware of a sulky dark presence in the box. Lily turned and looked at the third little girl sitting still and sullen. Why is Lavinia always such a cross-patch? she thought. We’re all having such a jolly time and she’s been a grumpy pig all evening. During the first act, she’d even whispered to Harriet, We’re going to ignore Lavinia, aren’t we? She’s such a spoil-sport. Nervously she looked see if Lady Durston had heard her but the old lady appeared to be ignoring her granddaughter also. Lily was glad.

  Her hair is the colour of doves, she thought, gazing at the old lady. It’s like a great big sailing boat. Swept high and wide, the old-fashioned hairstyle was held in place by two glinting diamond combs, bobbing swan’s feathers tucked into the vast waves. Lily thought she was the most beautiful old lady she’d ever seen, her dress, t
he palest grey, high at the throat with a frothy jabot of snow-white lace, edged with black velvet.

  ‘Well, my dears, and what do we think of Signor Puccini’s opera so far?’ asked Lady Durston.

  ‘Harriet and I like the one in the yellow dress best,’ announced Lily.

  ‘But we also think she’s very sad,’ added Harriet.

  ‘Hush, hush, slowly. One at a time. Now then,’ smiled Lady Durston. ‘You think Mimi is sad?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘Mmm,’ considered the old lady. ‘I think you’re probably right. And I fear she has chosen the wrong young man into the bargain.’

  ‘Are they in love, Lady Durston?’ asked Lily.

  ‘In a manner of speaking, they are. And you, Lavinia child?’ The old lady now turned to her granddaughter. ‘How are you enjoying your birthday treat?’

  The little girl sat up very straight and said in a stiff voice, ‘I think, Grandmama, Signor Caruso is very good as Rudolfo.’ She pushed at her party dress but the skirts refused to obey; they kept bobbing up.

  ‘If not a little portly,’ her grandmother observed. ‘I am told Signor Caruso smokes two packets of cigarettes a day and never takes exercise. That may account for his shape.’ She twinkled at the three girls.

  But Lavinia was not to be diverted. She continued in a determined little voice, ‘I think he is doing Signor Puccini’s music full justice.’

  ‘Do you, indeed,’ replied her grandmother. ‘And how about Madame Melba?’

  ‘I think her voice—’ But the child stopped, bewildered; the two other girls had collapsed in giggles.

  ‘And what,’ demanded Lady Durston, ‘do you young ladies find so amusing?’

  ‘Oh, Lady Durston,’ Lily gasped for air. ‘When they kissed each other—’

  ‘Their arms – they couldn’t reach round—’ Harriet gleefully fell against her, her little legs swinging back and forth.

  ‘They are, indeed, a trifle stout,’ said her Ladyship and was swept into helpless laughter as well.

  It was only after a little while, gasping and laughing, Lily became aware Lavinia wasn’t joining in. She sat completely still, her face pinched white, her neck bright red against her ice-pale party dress, slowly twisting round and round her wrist a small pearl bracelet – her grandmother’s birthday present.

  On the way home, Lily struggled to keep awake…the carriage kept rocking…and she kept sinking against the hard buttoned seats…and her yellow chiffon skirt kept fluffing up…like a nest…her eyes drooped closed…

  She forced them open – and saw Lavinia opposite, bolt upright, staring out of the carriage window. She’s hated the evening. But it’s her own fault; the silly old opera was her choice. And she’s only jealous ’cos I get on better with Harriet than I get on with her. Anyway, she’s always so horrid, serves her right.

  She looked at Lady Durston sitting next to her granddaughter, wrapped in white furs. She’s nice though…and Lily remembered the kiss and the two big stomachs meeting before the people’s lips… And she fell fast asleep.

  Next morning she was furious – she’d missed the whole drive home. She’d so wanted to see London – and at night-time – and now she was going back to the boring old country and probably wouldn’t be back in London again for years. Well, not until she was at least twelve.

  She yawned and, looking round the nursery, saw she was all on her own, the other bed empty. Where was Harriet?

  A maid bobbed round the door. ‘Get up, miss, otherwise you’ll not get breakfast. It’s half past eight.’

  ‘Where is everybody?’ She scrambled out of bed.

  ‘Bit of a to-do downstairs. Get dressed, quick as you can.’

  When Lily appeared in the breakfast room, Lady Durston glanced at her but continued talking. ‘For the last time, Lavinia, I will not call the police. I will deal with the matter as I – and only I – see fit. Matthews, help Miss Robinson to some eggs. There is no time for anything more elaborate, Lily; I see you have overslept… Thank you, Matthews, that will be all.’

  As the door closed, Lady Durston said, ‘Lavinia appears to have mislaid her new bracelet—’

  ‘It has been stolen, Grandmama!’

  ‘Hush. Please do not interrupt when I’m speaking. Now then. Lily, do you have any idea as to what may have happened to it?’

  ‘No, Lady Durston. But perhaps Harriet saw it?’ So saying, she realised her new friend wasn’t there.

  ‘In that case we will not talk about this any more.’ Lavinia made to speak but her grandmother threw her a severe look. ‘You will go to your room, Lavinia, and help Bridie with your packing.’

  Left alone, one glance at Lady Durston and Lily knew to keep quiet as well. The old lady sat staring out of the long dining-room windows. She looked much older than the night before and seemed very sad.

  Lily gazed out, too, at the trees of Portman Square. She could hear a hurdy-gurdy and clopping hooves and a motor car sputtering along, honking of its horn. This was London! She wanted so badly to get down from the table and join in the world outside.

  A butler re-entered and attended her ladyship’s side with a silver teapot. He glided away once more.

  What had happened to Harriet? Why was everybody so cross this morning? And why did Lavinia want to see the police? She longed to ask but knew to keep silent.

  The old woman slowly rose from the table and left the room without a word.

  Typical! thought Lily, I always miss everything. Well, I suppose I’d better do my packing, too. Fed up, she started to climb back up the grand old house.

  No one around, the vast staircase hung in deadening silence. She dawdled over the banister, peering up at a domed glass ceiling high above. Slowly she let her eye drift back down the shafts of dusty sunlight that lit the silky walls hung with long-ago people sitting astride muscly steeds, carelessly stroking their curly lapdogs.

  It was as she reached the second floor she heard a sound. A tiny sound; a thin tremble of crying. She stood in the middle of the wide landing and listened hard.

  Silence.

  Then from somewhere behind a half-open door, there came a stifled hiccup. Quickly tip-toeing over, she peeped through the small gap by the hinges and saw, half-hidden by a sofa, curled up on the floor, Harriet.

  ‘They asked me all these questions, Lily—’ Great gulping sobs, the two little girls held each other. ‘In front of everyone – all the maids. Everyone – they think I’m a thief.’

  For Lily and Harriet, her new friend of a day, all the fun of the night before had vanished.

  Chapter Six

  SS Etoile. Friday, mid-afternoon

  Little Anthea was bawling. She stood in the middle of the third-class general room, her head caught half in and half out of a torn jersey which sported a faded ‘skull and cross bones’. She resembled a fat little beehive. At her side, her grandmother was trying to divest the little girl of the garment without actually strangling her. It was a tempest-tossed exercise.

  For one usually so silent, thought Lily, it’s extraordinary, the enormous sound she can make when the need arises. She had watched as the child, disappointed by the dismal selection of dressing-up clothes and dizzy from the ensuing storm of tears, now appear to be only comforted by making colossal amounts of noise.

  ‘Yes, well, my love,’ her grandmother was attempting to console and hopefully quieten her granddaughter. ‘I told you, get a move on. Mind yer, this morning you didn’t want to go’t fancy dress at all.’

  ‘Did,’ choked Anthea.

  ‘No use crying about it now, there’s no fancy dress left. Unless you want to go as the invisible fairy, there’s nowt you can do about it.’

  Lily felt so sorry for them both. For nearly half an hour she’d been completely absorbed in watching Mrs Webb trying to cobble together an outfit. At last, the challenge proving too much, the large woman had pulled the little girl free from the final garment, a pirate’s jersey, and given up. Now the child sat abandoned on the
floor, leaning against her grandmother’s legs, her head buried deep in the woman’s skirts, her sobs muffled. Mrs Webb was dejectedly fanning herself with Bo Peep’s battered straw hat.

  Lily crossed the room. ‘Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing—’

  The woman jumped. ‘Flippin’ ’eck!’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wondering if I could help and…um…forgive me for interfering but—’ She dropped down to Anthea’s level. ‘How about going as a clown?’

  The child’s head remained buried, tiny bubbles of sound popping out of her.

  ‘Well, our Anthea, how about that then?’ said Mrs Webb brightly.

  ‘Don’t want to go as a clown,’ hiccuped the little girl, her head ducking up and then back down.

  Before Mrs Webb could remind the child of ‘manners’, Lily carried on, ‘What a shame, because that’s what I’m going as.’

  The child emerged, and said with huffy authority, ‘The dressing up’s not for big people.’

  ‘Anthea!’ snapped her grandmother.

  But Lily had got the little girl’s attention. ‘And you could have bright red pom-poms. Do you have a bit of wool, Mrs Webb?’

  ‘Aye, in me woolbag—’

  ‘And what about a pointy hat?’ Lily asked. ‘Do you have a bit of card for a pointy hat?’

  ‘You mean cardboard, like?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In our cabin—’

  ‘I’ll get it!’ cried her granddaughter, and galloped away out of the general room.

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Webb, ‘that’s stopped her for a bit.’ Adding briskly, ‘You mustn’t mind her. She dun’t like change and this trip’s scaring the life out o’ her.’

  ‘I know how she feels,’ replied Lily, without thinking.

  The big woman looked at her for a second, nodded briefly but said nothing.

  Lily turned quickly to the job in hand. ‘Scissors – I’ve got some in my cabin.’

  ‘Nay, stay put,’ said Mrs Webb. ‘Madame will have summat and she’s just next door.’