The Glowing Hours

by Marina Oliver

  'Edwina will make sure your costumes are there. She'll be able to sort out any problems, but the stage manager will show you where to go. Do as he says, he knows you're new to all of it.'

  'It's as well we didn't know,' Gwyneth muttered when they were eventually herded into a room about ten feet square, with two rickety looking chairs, one poorly lit mirror and a small washbasin. Their costumes were in a large wicker basket which took up a great deal of the floor space, but apart from a couple of hooks there was nowhere to hang them. 'We'll have to take turns standing up, let alone changing.'

  'Thank goodness we're not in Pantomime, with lots of changes,' Kitty said, determined to be optimistic. 'I shall put on my make-up at home. It will be easier than crowding round that ghastly flyblown mirror.'

  'It's the performing that worries me.'

  'But where is Edwina? She's supposed to be here! Looking after things!'

  Nell was suffering from a sudden attack of nerves. It had seemed easy, dancing in the ballroom at Endersby's. They were used to practising there, the musicians were familiar, and the hotel staff friendly. Many of the chambermaids had been frankly envious of the glamorous life they assumed dancers led, and the guests had been attentive and appreciative.

  Here, though, they were the least experienced of the acts appearing. From snatches of overheard conversation they realised some of the other performers seemed to know one another, or at least have heard of their fellow artistes. They grumbled incessantly about the facilities and the management, and seemed to delight in telling stories of horrors to which they or others had been subjected by hostile audiences. Being booed off stage seemed the least awful fate which could await them.

  Nell had begun to appreciate that much of the success of their act depended on her and Gwyneth. The rest of the troupe were no more than adequate, good enough for a line, capable of keeping in step, but without the particular verve and extra talent which could make them stand out as special. And she wanted so much to be extra special.

  She'd been thrust into doing the solo spot and more complicated steps with Gwyneth, and began to doubt her ability to succeed. Gwyneth had been dancing for much longer than she had, and was by far the most talented of Mr Bliss's pupils. The routine demanded a pair, and while she thought she was better than the other girls she was far from convinced she was anywhere near the quality of Gwyneth. Her fears increased. The dusty backstage atmosphere, the smells of greasepaint, canvas and size, sweat and, inexplicably, sour cabbage, made her nauseous. It was a relief when, finally dressed in their costumes and with make-up applied, they were summoned from the overcrowded, stuffy little dressing room onto the stage for the rehearsal.

  The relief did not persist for long. In the wings it was freezing cold, and stage hands and technicians bustled about, shouting incomprehensible remarks to one another and cursing volubly at anyone who got in their way. The old hands waited, snug in fur coats or thick shawls, riposting with laughter and quick retorts to the abuse they received. The acrobats were doing handstands in the only large space available, while the Dancing Duo swore at them as they tried to practise their steps, dodging the flying feet as best they could. Nell and the others huddled miserably in a corner until it was time to start.

  This was delayed again and again as new problems were discovered to do with the lighting or the special effects, and it was an hour after they'd been called before the first run-through started.

  'At least we're first on, we can go after we've done our turn,' Kitty muttered. 'That is, if my feet unfreeze and I can manage the steps without shivering my way off the edge of the stage.'

  They had not previously rehearsed on the stage. It took several false starts as they got used to the distance they needed to cover on their entrance, spread out more when the Producer complained they didn't fill the stage, argued with the musicians who were playing the music too slowly, and had to move further forward to be properly within the best lighted area. By the time they'd completed their turn two of the girls were near to tears, Kitty was almost bursting with rage, and Gwyneth was in the mood to have a furious row with Frank Bliss.

  'Either he or Edwina should have been here!' she fumed as they changed out of their costumes. 'They're supposed to know about the problems, and it's up to them to find solutions, not me!'

  'That impudent little fool!' Kitty seethed. 'How dare he complain I wasn't in step! His miserable little orchestra couldn't even keep the right tempo! And what has he got to do with how we dance, anyway?'

  'I can't go on again!' a girl named Kathy wept. 'It's too humilating! Did you hear them saying some of the audience threw rotten tomatoes if they didn't like the acts? I don't think I want to be a dancer if it's going to be like this.'

  'It won't always be like this,' Nell soothed her. She didn't feel like going on again at the moment, but for just a few minutes, when it had finally been going smoothly, she had glimpsed the power and the magic of doing something really well, of capturing the imagination of an audience, being absorbed into a world of music and colour and movement. They could not manage, however, if one of the girls walked off in a huff.

  'I'm going straight to Mr Bliss. I'll sort things out,' Gwyneth promised. Her temper had cooled swiftly, as it usually did, and she realised she had to cajole the nervous girls through these first vital few days.

  'Shall we all come?' one of the waverers asked.

  'No need.' If they did, Gwyneth knew, she would have less chance of making Mr Bliss listen to her, for it would all be exaggerated and he would merely retaliate with anger. 'Nell can come. Bring warm coats for this evening, and get here early so that we can change one or two at a time.'

  *

  Kitty was looking worried, and as Gwyneth and Nell left she followed them.

  'Gwyneth, can we have an hour's practice before tonight?'

  'Come to the studio now. I know it's free.'

  Kitty was unusually subdued. She rarely admitted to mistakes. 'I know I muffed some of the steps. I'm terrified of letting you all down.' She also rarely thought of anyone but herself.

  Gwyneth realised how difficult such a confession had been, and smiled encouragingly. 'It's only practice you need.' Later, as the three of them were in the studio she was relieved she had been correct.

  'Imagine you're a horse in that high-stepping sequence. You know how they pick their feet up and seem to let their ankles go loose. Do it like that, but don't relax, point your toes straight down.'

  Kitty concentrated. 'Oh, it's easy now I can think like that.'

  'And when we're moving sideways to the left, on that step you missed, Kitty, at the very end as we turn to moving back take two steps on the left foot, hop, keeping your right knee up and swinging your body round. Then you'll be on the proper foot, balanced ready to reverse smoothly. Let's try it. That's it! Good! I knew you could do it!'

  *

  'Mother! What's brought you home? Why didn't you send to tell us you were coming?'

  Cecily Denver tossed aside the magazine she was reading and looked at her daughter. Then she gave a deep sigh. 'What a nuisance you are, child! Getting yourself into all sorts of mischief.'

  'I'm not!' Kitty was genuinely puzzled. 'What sort of mischief?'

  'This wretched dancing, of course. How could you be so idiotic? It will ruin all your chances of a good marriage! Why you couldn't have been satisfied with one of the men who wanted you last year I don't know.'

  'You're a fine one to talk about getting married!' Kitty flared, throwing herself down into a chair opposite her mother. 'It didn't matter so much to you!'

  'No, and perhaps it was a mistake. At least you'd have had a man to control you.'

  'You mean my father? Are you going to tell me who it was? If he wanted to marry you why the devil did you refuse him?'

  'That wasn't what I meant, and stop trying to avoid the real question. Tell me about the dancing. How on earth did you get involved?'

  'It's perfectly respectable, Mother. I started to go to modern ba
llroom classes, and the people who run the school also run stage classes. I thought it would be fun! Life's pretty dreary sometimes, you know, all alone in this house, with no one but Meggy to look at.'

  'You'll have to stop.'

  'No! Mother, we have the first proper professional performance in a theatre tonight! It would ruin it for everyone else if I couldn't do it! Anyway, who sneaked on me? Was it Meggy?'

  'Don't blame her. She didn't say a word. It was Andrew who wrote to me and informed me that I was neglecting my duties as a fond parent.'

  'Andrew! But he – he's on the stage himself! How could he!'

  'I imagine it's because he's on the stage that he knows what it is really like, and wants to prevent you from ruining your entire life. It's still different for men, despite all we've fought for. They can still do lots of things we can't. Luckily I was planning to come to France, but it's most inconvenient to have to come via Birmingham.'

  Kitty begged and stormed and pleaded, eventually gaining her mother's permission to continue with the week's engagement.

  'I've never known you want to do anything which demanded hard work and commitment,' she said wearily at last. 'Since it is arranged, you'd better do it for this week. But no longer. And as you haven't the wit to keep out of mischief by yourself, I shall have to provide you with a chaperone. I can't stay, I'm going to Manchester on Wednesday for a couple of days, then to Nice for a month or so, and after that probably back to California. I'll see whether Cousin Maud can come. She'd no doubt jump at the idea of a comfortable home away from her wretched sisters. I know she's always saying Harrogate doesn't suit her.'

  'Cousin Maud? Mother! You wouldn't! She's the most tremendous bore, she never stops wittering on about nothing! And she smells of camphor!'

  'Yes, but what else can I do? You are too irresponsible to be left alone, you never take any notice of Meggy, and even Andrew can't control you.'

  'I don't want Andrew to control me!' Kitty ground her teeth. 'I'll never forgive him for this! For the very first time in my life I've found something I enjoy doing, and he's trying to ruin it for me.'

  *

  'Albert, you ought to go ter police,' Mrs Baxter said timidly. 'Our Amy ain't been 'ome fer two days now.'

  'Shut yer gob, woman! Bloody wench'll turn up when 'er's 'ungry.'

  'But 'er's only a little 'un. Albert, I know summat's 'appened. I can feel it in me bones.'

  'That's what yer said when Nell scarpered, an' yer was wrong. 'Er's doin' well fer 'erself, an' never a thought fer us, selfish bitch!'

  They were alone in the kitchen. The younger children were in bed, subdued because of the row which had erupted on Saturday after Amy had appeared with news of Nell, and the half crown she said Nell had given her. The older ones had vanished as soon as their father had come home, roaring drunk for the third night running, having spent the half crown at the Ryland Arms.

  Only Mrs Baxter, emboldened by her fears for both her missing daughters, had stayed to face him.

  'Nell's a good 'un, 'er wouldn't 'ave gone if you 'adn't beat 'er.' She was made unusually bold by her misery.

  'Don't be so bloody daft! They're likely fleecin' fellers what can't get it fer free!'

  'Albert, our Nell's not like that, 'er isn't!'

  ' 'Ow d'yer know? Where can 'er get 'alf crowns from, honest like? Tell me that, eh? Jus' tell me that!'

  'Nell's a good gal. It were you drove 'er away from 'ome, an' now you've gone an' sent little Amy after 'er, she's most like killed by now!'

  'Fer God's sake, woman, lay off!'

  'If 'er's not back by mornin', Albert, I'm goin' ter police station in Ladywood Road, an' askin' if they've found 'er.'

  'You go anywhere near bloody coppers an' I'll break every bone in yer body! Then yer'll be feelin' summat in 'em, that yer will!'

  *

  Paul Mandeville glanced round suspiciously as he walked to the box office. Why on earth had he succumbed to that crazy urge to visit this obscure little fleapit just to watch a music hall, something which normally bored him to tears. He hadn't done anything so impulsive for years. At least he would be unlikely to be seen or recognised by any of his friends or patients.

  Then he realised that as well as the wealthy residents of Edgbaston he had patients from the Ladywood clinic who might well be attracted to this sort of entertainment. He pulled up his white silk scarf, thankful that it was a cold night, and snapped down the brim of his hat over his eyes. Feeling rather foolish he tried to roughen his accent as he asked for his ticket, insisting on a seat at the side where he would be unlikely to be seen from the stage.

  As he sat watching the very mixed but sparse audience arrive he tried to analyse his motives. His mother had been disapproving of Kitty's dancing ambitions.

  'It will send her the same way as her mother, you mark my words,' she had confided in him after Felicity left to join her fiancé.

  'Not all dancers are immoral and disreputable,' he protested.

  'No, of course not, but think of the sort of life they lead, moving about, living in dingy lodgings, open to all sorts of temptations. It would be surprising if a girl of Kitty's breeding didn't soon tire of the constant practising and look for an easier life. And when a girl displays her legs and wears almost nothing, it's as good as saying she's for sale.'

  He could not delude himself that he was here to watch over Kitty's morals, though. For one thing he could not be constantly on guard. For another, he doubted whether he would have the slightest influence over her if he did make any protest.

  It was the other one who intrigued him, the shy, fawnlike one who was so hauntingly beautiful.

  Her story, as much as he had heard, was a strange one. How could she appear so untouched after life in those dreadful houses? Then he remembered she'd spent years with her grandparents in the countryside. He wanted to know why. He wanted to talk with her again. He wanted, he realised with a sudden revelation that was a mixture of delight and horror, to know her much better than he'd ever before known a woman.

  It was to see Nell make her stage début that he'd come to this wretched little theatre. And yet, he knew, he would never tell her. He would creep out as unobtrusively as he'd entered, and hug to himself the memories of Nell dancing.

  *

  'Beginners please! That means you lot!'

  'Cheeky devil!' Kitty's voice was high with nerves. Perhaps her mother was right, this wasn't all fun. Yet most of the time she enjoyed the companionship of the troupe, the dancing itself, and was looking forward to the admiration of the audiences such as she had experienced at the show at Endersby's.

  'Come on, girls. Mrs Bliss is ill, so we're on our own. Let's prove to everyone out there just how good we can be!' Gwyneth said encouragingly.

  'We'll be so good they'll beg us to go to London, and Paris, and even New York!' Nell added.

  She and Gwyneth both knew how desperately nervous the other girls were, how much they needed encouragement. Even the sophisticated Kitty had been complaining about feeling sick ever since they'd arrived at the theatre for the opening performance. They had to hide their own nervousness and pretend they felt no apprehension, if they were to spur the rest of the troupe through the ordeal.

  The Bliss Beauties were dressed, made-up, and frantically going through the order of the steps in their heads, since there wasn't room in the tiny dressing room for more than minimal movement.

  'Let's go. Remember the changes we worked out this morning, otherwise just let's enjoy being on a real, professional stage at last!' Gwyneth said bracingly. 'It's what we've been working towards for months.'

  'And don't miss that change of step again, Kitty,' Jane said, her voice tense.

  'It wasn't my fault! You turned too soon!'

  'Jane, stop it! We all made mistakes this morning, Kitty made no more than you did, or anyone else, but it won't help to rake them up!' Gwyneth said sharply. 'Don't worry, Kitty, you'll be fine, we all will.'

  Kitty, for once nervous, gave Gw
yneth a grateful smile. The practice earlier had convinced her she could do it. 'Thanks,' she muttered, and took a deep breath.

  In some miraculous fashion the chaos of the morning had been resolved. The backdrops were in place, the orchestra tuning up, the lights blazing. From beyond the somewhat grubby curtain a muted buzz of anticipation could be heard.

  'It's real!' one of the other girls whispered to Nell. 'Somehow I never quite believed it would ever happen!'

  It was happening all right. Nell was aquiver with nerves. Why had she ever wanted to become a dancer? Or why had she ever wanted to forsake the anonymity of the ballroom for the appalling glare of the stage, the prominence which ensured every mistake would be noted, commented upon, and probably jeered?

  The overture finished, the name of the troupe, which suddenly seemed quite ridiculous and at the same time presumptous and fantastic, was being announced, and the music they knew so well could be heard swelling away into the furthest corners of the auditorium.

  'Come on! Good luck!' Gwyneth said softly, and only Nell realised how incredibly nervous her friend was.

  She's brave, encouraging us and going on when she's a bundle of nerves herself, Nell thought. She knows everyone depends on her. I could never appear so calm and experienced.

  There was time for no more reflection, no more nerves. The demands of the dance predominated. The music compelled. And suddenly the steps she had practised so diligently, so painstakingly, were all that mattered. They were there, to be used, to be performed for the pleasure of doing something well and to provide entertainment.

  They had been so absorbed by the pressures of the moment that it was some time before the girls realised there were strange noises floating up from the audience.

  Whisperings, coughs, the occasional shout, rustlings and laughter, were the unexpected accompaniments of their performance. For a moment, as the first euphoria of actually having got onto the stage without disaster evaporated, the girls faltered, but fortunately this was the moment when Nell and Gwyneth began their speciality dance, and any hesitation was masked by the changes. Gradually, the noises subsided. Nell and Gwyneth smiled at each other with relief as they managed the trickiest sequence, which had been troublesome during the rehearsal. The final moves were completed, accompanied by a soaring sense of delight and triumph.