A Mother's Choice

by Val Wood

Although she knew Peggy Robinson to be a caring compassionate woman, it bothered her that the driver of the wagon, Peggy’s only son, wasn’t; she had known him since they were children and had thought of him then as a friend, but he had subsequently proved that he didn’t care for anyone’s feelings but his own. Well, Delia thought, I hope he’s got his just deserts with his wife. She concluded with some satisfaction that they hadn’t yet had a son, although the wife had definitely looked pregnant; unless, a small doubt crept into her head, the boy who had climbed into the wagon at the last minute – could he be …? No, she decided. He was older, maybe twelve or so. Older than my boy.

  My boy! She wept copiously in the empty carriage as the train hissed and steamed noisily towards Hull. Whatever am I thinking of, leaving him with strangers? She excused it by telling herself that she only wanted the best for him: warm clothes, plenty to eat, school, basic essentials that I can’t afford. He needs a settled existence, not a nomadic life such as I’m leading now. But how stupid was I to think that my parents would have a change of heart after they turned me out all those years ago? She knew why she’d fooled herself into hoping, though. She was fraught, more so than when he was a baby. I’ve run out of ways and means to survive.

  But how do you know the Robinsons will keep him, her conscience nagged uneasily. Suppose they pack him off to a children’s home or somewhere else? How can I find out whether or not he’s happy, and how will I know if he stays with them, or, worse, goes off alone to find his fortune? He has so many outlandish thoughts in his head, brought on in part by Arthur Crawshaw, who encouraged him and was forever telling me he deserved a different life. And I know that – she sniffled away her tears – but I can’t provide it.

  She stood on the platform when the train arrived in Hull, wondering what to do next. It was late; there probably wasn’t a train or a connection to take her back to London; besides, she was uncertain whether she wanted to go so far away, out of reach of him. And what will I do without money? The room at the Hedon Arms had been reasonable but she had little left in her purse. I have to get a job. It’s as if I’ve stepped back ten years. She shivered and looked about her. Another train had just arrived and disgorged its passengers, and people were heading for the concourse.

  Thoughtlessly she followed them; many of them were chattering as if some had travelled together. She heard their high-pitched laughter, saw the heavy bags that the women were struggling to carry, and a hesitant surge of hope turned up her lips: these were theatre people. But it was mid-week; why were they not at a performance?

  She tagged on behind, wondering where they were heading. She had played in Hull, but that was over ten years ago. It had come about quite accidentally: she was working as a cleaner and was brushing the seats and clearing up rubbish after a performance; the theatre manager had heard her singing one of the more sentimental songs from the show and told the director. He had listened to her and had been considerate. He had seen how frightened and nervous she was and had given her an audition and then said he would try her out; she would fill in a gap for a performer who had gone off sick. He had sent her to see the wardrobe mistress for something to wear and she had enjoyed the experience of being on stage. He had given her a recommendation in case she should decide to move on, which she subsequently did – with his company.

  ‘Come on.’ Someone carrying a violin case rushed up by her side. ‘We can maybe share a cab with someone.’

  She looked up at a tall man with fair hair curling on his collar and began to hurry beside him towards the cab stand. When he put a hand on her elbow to help her into a cab with an open door she didn’t object but sat down next to a young woman who moved up for her and shifted her bags with her feet.

  ‘Thank Gawd,’ the young woman said. ‘I thought we’d never get here. If I’d known Hull was such a long way from London I’d never have agreed to come.’

  ‘The theatre audiences are good,’ Delia murmured. ‘Or at least they always were. I haven’t been here for some time.’

  ‘Oh, really? I’ve never been so far north before but thought I’d give it a try. London’s pretty well booked up for the winter season. My agent missed out on a few gigs, so I’m going to sack him as soon as I find somebody else. What’s your name? Will I have heard of you?’

  ‘Delia Delamour,’ she murmured. ‘I’m a singer. What about you?’

  ‘Josie Turner. I’m in a dance troupe – well, we were a dance troupe but our numbers are dwindling so now we’re only three. Hope the management don’t mind too much.’ She looked at the man with the violin case and smiled sweetly. ‘You look familiar,’ she said archly. ‘Are you famous?’

  ‘Giles Dawson,’ he said equably. ‘No, I’m not famous; I’m filling in for a violinist who has gone off sick. You might have seen the back of my head in an orchestra pit.’

  The smile dropped from the young woman’s face and she turned away, disappointed, to look out of the cab window. Dawson glanced wryly at Delia and then grinned.

  ‘What kind of music do you sing, Miss Delamour?’ he asked.

  ‘Romantic and light opera,’ she said quietly. ‘Not comedy. I’m not inclined to be amusing.’

  ‘Pleased to hear it,’ he said. ‘I don’t care for music hall songs.’

  ‘I’m … not booked,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve come on the off chance. Who’s top of the bill, do you know?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. They’ve been closed for a week doing repairs. I only got the telegram yesterday afternoon asking if I could fill in. I happened to be free so I said yes. I’ve heard that the management were having difficulty getting performers as most are already committed, so you might be lucky.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘I want to stay in the area if possible.’

  ‘You might be doubly lucky then.’ He smiled. ‘They might want someone they know will stay.’

  Delia was surprised to hear that. ‘I’ve always worked with a contract,’ she said. ‘I’ve never ever broken one. It’s too risky, and word gets around.’

  ‘I agree.’ He looked pointedly in the direction of their travelling companion. ‘But not everyone is so committed.’

  Delia dropped her voice to a murmur. ‘So which theatre are we heading for?’ She saw his raised eyebrows and added hastily, ‘It’s over ten years since I was here and there have been many changes, including the fire that destroyed the theatre I’d appeared in. It looks to me,’ she nodded towards the window of the cab, ‘that we might be heading towards Paragon Street.’

  ‘We are,’ he said. ‘It’s the newest Theatre Royal and it’s been built on part of the old Queen’s Theatre. Do you remember it? And,’ he said as the cab slowed, ‘we’re already here! Hardly worth getting a cab, you might think, but it saves a few minutes when carrying luggage. I’ve played here many times since it opened and I can assure you that it is fire-proofed to a high degree and is a lovely theatre. It holds fifteen hundred.’

  ‘Goodness,’ she said. ‘And do they fill it?’

  ‘Not always, but they will at this time of year.’ He gazed at her curiously. ‘Where do you usually appear?’

  ‘London and the south coast,’ she said, and was gratified when she saw he was impressed. ‘But I need to stay in the north for a while to sort out … erm, family commitments.’

  The cab drew to a halt and Delia got out and looked up. Her travelling companion was right; the theatre was very impressive. She turned to tell him so and saw him paying the driver. She fumbled for her purse and hoped she had enough to pay her share, but he waved away her contribution and thanked her for offering, ‘unlike the other young lady, who didn’t give it a single thought,’ he said, as they watched the dancer saunter towards her troupe of two waiting outside the theatre.

  ‘She’s young and immature,’ Delia excused her. ‘She’ll learn.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘You’re still young, and on our brief acquaintance I couldn’t imagine you were ever like that.’

  ‘We all hav
e regrets about what we did in our youth,’ she countered. ‘Even the most sensible amongst us.’

  He smiled and Delia thought he was rather handsome when he did so, the smile lightening his blue eyes and rather thoughtful expression. ‘Don’t you have any more luggage?’ he asked as they walked to the door.

  ‘It’s in the left luggage office at the train station,’ she explained. ‘I didn’t know if I’d get a booking so didn’t want to haul it round all the theatres with me. It wouldn’t have looked good.’

  In the foyer waiting for them was the manager of the theatre and a woman who Delia thought might be the wardrobe mistress, and as they were amongst the first in, and some of the other performers were still chattering outside, catching up with gossip and greeting other artistes, Delia made a beeline for the manager.

  ‘My name is Delia Delamour,’ she told him, handing him her carte de visite, a postcard with a coloured photograph of herself in stage costume on one side and on the other a list of places where she had performed. ‘I’ve been travelling to visit my family since my last Brighton performance, and called on the off chance that you might be able to accommodate me in a role?’

  She gave him the name of her agent, who could give him all her references, and said that for family reasons she needed to be in the north of England rather than London or the south coast, where she usually performed.

  ‘I’ve heard of you, Miss Delamour,’ the manager, Dennis Rogers, said, to her delight. ‘I worked in the south for a few years, and briefly at Bradshaw’s when I was a junior manager.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Would you care to wait in my office until I have seen these other performers? The rest will turn up tomorrow, I hope. We’re opening on Monday night.’

  He opened a glass-panelled door behind the ticket office and invited her to be seated. Giles Dawson was in the foyer chatting to another man, who was also carrying a violin case. He saw her looking out and nodded, mouthing Good luck. Which I desperately need, she thought, and she sat back and closed her eyes for a moment.

  She was tired, and hungry too; she hadn’t eaten since she’d finished off the leftover beef sandwich at the Sun Inn, and that was hours ago. If I don’t get this engagement I don’t know what I’ll do. She felt distressed over her situation, but it was a small comfort to think that she had done the right thing and that her son would be safe for a short while with the Robinsons. Even if we had stayed in the south, she thought, I didn’t have an engagement to tide us over. The theatrical profession is so precarious. There’s no stability at all, unless you’re at the top of the tree.

  Her meandering thoughts turned to Arthur Crawshaw and she wondered how he managed to survive; he doesn’t have regular work, she pondered, which leads me to think that he might have another income. He’s always well dressed, and his boots and shoes are of good leather; he doesn’t speak much about his family, just that they are country people and that he has a younger brother who works in an office in London.

  The door opened and Mr Rogers rushed in and sat down behind his desk. ‘I’m so sorry to keep you, Miss Delamour. There’s always a problem to resolve in this business,’ he said, echoing her thoughts. ‘But I’m happy to say I am in a position to engage you, but only on condition that you can sign a contract with us for the next three months. We’ve had such an up and down time of it lately that I do need that assurance.’

  Delia’s heart soared. What joy! That would give her time to think through what she should do next, or even to take a trip out to Paull and discover if her darling boy really was all right. But Mr Rogers hadn’t yet heard her sing! He must be desperate to take someone on without knowing what she could do.

  ‘What kind of role?’ she asked cautiously, anxious not to sound too enthusiastic, even though she would have been willing to scrub the stage and auditorium on her hands and knees if necessary. She’d done that before; she could do it again.

  He clasped his hands together. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Miss Delamour. You’ve been in this business long enough to know the pitfalls, so I will tell you that we have been let down very badly by our lead singer, whose agent has informed us that she cannot fulfil her engagement. In fact, I had already heard a rumour that he had found her a more lucrative role in Manchester, so our lawyers are to sue both of them for breach of contract.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Delia murmured, inaudibly blessing the woman and her agent.

  ‘As we are almost into December we are producing a Christmas show. Not the usual pantomime – that will come in the new year – but a show of music, song and dance. We would like you to take second billing as songstress of romantic music. Not music hall songs,’ he emphasized. ‘We have a singer for those, who of course is further down the bill.’

  He mopped his forehead with a large handkerchief. ‘I’ve had to turn down a dance troupe where there should have been six but only three turned up.’ He tutted. ‘Professional! They don’t know the meaning of the word.’

  Poor Miss Turner, Delia thought as she shook her head in commiseration, finished before she’s begun. But if she’s intent on a stage career she’ll make a comeback. The offer he had made her was only just seeping through. Second on the bill! She had never been higher than third, and that was only occasionally. In London and Brighton there was enormous competition for starring roles, and theatre managers could pick and choose whom they wanted.

  ‘We shall close for Christmas, and then following the pantomime we are planning another production,’ Rogers went on, ‘which is why I need to be assured you can accept a three-month contract. After that, well, we’ll see how the shows run. Audiences are what we need,’ he said in a breath, ‘but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.’

  They discussed terms of contract and he asked her if she would like him to inform her agent, to which she replied that she would write to him herself as she had other business to discuss now that she would be staying in the north for a long season. She also asked Mr Rogers if he would be willing to pay her directly rather than through her agent, as he hadn’t been involved with the arrangement.

  ‘This will suit me very well indeed,’ she said at last, ‘and you needn’t think I would ever let you down.’ Her fingers played about her mouth as if she were considering options, and then she added, ‘As I am staying for a longer period, I will want to find a good lodging house where I can be comfortable, and do it tonight before everyone else does. So I was wondering,’ again she hesitated as if mulling something over, ‘would it be possible for you to pay me an advance so that I can give a substantial deposit and secure the lodgings for the time I’m here? My agent is notoriously slow in passing fees on to his clients and as I am not in London to badger him for what I am owed …’

  He looked a little startled for a second, and then his face cleared. ‘I don’t see why not, Miss Delamour. For someone as esteemed as yourself I am sure that can be arranged. If you will wait just another moment longer.’ He pushed back his chair and got up. ‘I’ll see the wages clerk straight away,’ and he hurried out of the door.

  Delia let out a huge breath. How had she dared to ask such a thing? But if he came up with a substantial advance, or even a small one, she could have a meal and a bed to sleep in that night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Giles Dawson recommended the lodging house where he was staying off Church Street. He said that most of the visiting musicians stayed there as it was in a quiet area even though in the centre of town, and the landlady didn’t mind if they practised; many of the regular members of the orchestra lived in Hull and didn’t need accommodation.

  Delia walked with him to see it and it proved to be clean and comfortable. After leaving a deposit out of the cash advanced to her by Mr Rogers, she returned to the railway station to collect her trunk and came back in a cab to find that supper was included in the rent. She sat in the small dining room with Giles Dawson and another musician, a cellist, whose name she didn’t catch, and it was then that Giles Dawson told her that he’d recommended her to Dennis Ro
gers.

  ‘But, Mr Dawson, you’ve never heard me sing!’ she said in astonishment.

  He laughed. ‘I can tell by the timbre of your voice,’ he said. ‘But he’ll hear you at rehearsal and he can change his mind if he doesn’t care for it!’

  ‘But he’s given me a three-month contract,’ she protested, and put her hand to her mouth to cover her own amusement when he gave a great guffaw and said, ‘He must have been desperate!’

  After supper, which was hot and hearty, and saying goodnight to the two men, she went up to her room, for it was getting late and it had been a demanding and stressful day. She opened her trunk and hung up her theatre gowns on the picture rails so that the creases would drop out. Then she sat on the bed and let loose her emotions. What would Jack be thinking about her? Would he be worried, upset? She put her head in her hands. Should she ask the landlady, Mrs Benson, if she could bring him here? And if the woman agreed, what about his schooling? She gave a deep moan. Whatever she thought of didn’t seem right. Should she look for other work? What was she fit for, and where would they live?

  She didn’t sleep well, but tossed and turned and felt wretched the next morning; she tried to concentrate on sorting through her song books to decide which music she might use. She thought that five pieces would be sufficient for her act, perhaps alternating two of them on different evenings for variety.

  She liked to use semi-classical operatic arias but had to be careful that the music was within her range and the words light-hearted, unlike some, such as Romani’s libretto for Norma which she couldn’t bring herself to sing, as it conveyed a woman’s love for her children. She chose the romantic ballads of Rossini but also included folk songs and gypsy music which the audience would know; she had many pages of sheet music, and although she never thought of herself as a celebrated singer she knew she had a pleasant voice, a mezzo-soprano that was easy to listen to.

  After breakfast she visited the theatre to look at the programme on the doors and then took a walk around the town to remind herself how it used to be and see what had changed over the years. From Paragon Street she walked back towards Market Place and Holy Trinity church; and although the weather was cold and wet she retraced her steps to the shopping street of Whitefriargate, where the white-robed monks had lived of old. From there she cut through Parliament Street, skirted the Queen’s Dock and walked to the Mechanics’ Institute just behind George Street, which she remembered well and was pleased to see was still open as a theatre; she had never played there but recalled how popular it had been. Some of the other theatres were now derelict having been destroyed by fire, a great hazard in theatreland not only here but in many other places too; a stray cigar left carelessly burning and unnoticed could cause devastation within minutes.