The Songbird

by Val Wood

  ‘It’s less than a month to Christmas Day,’ Mattie said gloomily. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll get an invite to Mazzini’s this year?’

  Her mother gave a grim smile. ‘Even if we do, love, we won’t be going.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Poppy decided that she would travel back to Hull the next day rather than rush to catch a train that afternoon and arrive late at her father’s. After leaving Dan’s office she walked towards the theatre area and gazed at the posters announcing the artistes. Some of the theatres served melodrama, some farce, and some burlesque, which the present-day audience seemed to prefer, though serious theatre work was more acceptable than it once was, and theatres such as the Lyceum where Henry Irving had directed and acted in Shakespearean plays attracted a more genteel audience.

  She gazed through the doors of the Royal Italian Opera House in Covent Garden and wished that she could hear a performance. But she couldn’t go alone, and there was no-one she knew who could take her. Opera wouldn’t be to Charlie’s taste, she was sure of that, and the only other, Anthony, who she felt would appreciate opera, was no longer around.

  Covent Garden swarmed and bustled with people, buying and selling, for this was London’s fruit and flower market. Early each morning the porters heaved huge crates and sacks around as if they were a mere nothing; they shouted and whistled and by eight o’clock their job was done and the customers were gathering. The air was filled with the combined heady odours of fruit and flowers and the ground scattered with straw, horse dung, vegetable pods and parings.

  The expansion of the railway into London forty years before had brought thousands of people to the capital looking for work. They came without money or jobs to go to and many of them shared a bed with strangers, living in cellars or on the streets, or beneath the arches which had been built to carry the railway lines which had brought them here in the first place. Most never went home to wherever it was they had come from. They stayed and increased the population until London overflowed with humanity. Some grew rich, and founded shops and industries; others stayed poor and lived in the workhouses, or if they were fortunate enough were given accommodation in newly built mansion flats, a scheme envisaged by philanthropists to ease the housing problem.

  Some of the music halls were tucked away from the main thoroughfares but Poppy sought them out and took notice of the performers who were appearing there, and then she found the Savoy Theatre where the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company put on the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas which, it was said, the Queen enjoyed so much.

  She stopped for coffee and cake, and wrote a postcard to Charlie telling him she was going home for Christmas. She posted it and then walked alongside the Thames, watching the mass of river traffic. Water taxis rowed by, tugs chugged past throwing out thick black smoke, sailboats with canvas sails creaking took advantage of the sharp wind, and ragged boys waded at the water’s edge, searching for treasure within the detritus of old boots, bits of rags, empty bottles and sewage. She leaned against the embankment wall for a time and then, as her feet were aching and she was beginning to feel a chill, she hailed a hansom cab to take her back to Mrs Trenton’s house.

  Dolly Trenton made her a cup of tea, and when Poppy told her where she had been she regaled her with tales of the places where she and Nelly had played.

  ‘Held the audience in the palm of our ’ands, we did. They loved us. We could do no wrong; whatever we sang, they joined in.’ She sighed and grew wistful. ‘Them was the days, all right,’ she murmured. ‘They’ll never come back.’

  The next morning Poppy went out into the street to look for a cab to take her and her trunk to King’s Cross railway station. She saw old Harry standing outside his house smoking a pipe, and gave him a wave. The street didn’t seem threatening in the daylight hours and she could laugh at her previous fears.

  She bought a magazine at W. H. Smith’s bookstall and settled down in her seat on the train. She hadn’t asked for a ladies-only carriage this time as her father had done when she had travelled to London, and she reflected that although she hadn’t been away from home so very long, it seemed as if a lifetime had passed.

  I wonder if Charlie will go home for Christmas, she thought as the engine gathered steam. The guard shouted and waved his flag and the train jerked into action. I do hope that he does. I so want to see him. And Tommy, she thought, will there be a letter from him? Her father had written to her that he had heard nothing more from her brother since that first note.

  When she arrived at the Paragon station it was early evening and she guessed that her father would be busy in the coffee shop. Office workers often popped in after they had finished work and before they walked home, as did some of the factory managers and clerks from the nearby dock office. He’ll be so surprised to see me, she thought gleefully, and it’s so nice to be home.

  A porter took her and her baggage through to the front concourse and hailed a cab. ‘To Mazzini’s, please,’ she said to the driver. ‘Savile Street.’

  ‘Aye, I know where it is,’ the cabbie said, lifting up her trunk. ‘And this is a deal heavier than when I took you to catch ’train to London! How’ve you bin? Had enough of bright lights o’ London, eh? My missus has been watching ’newspaper for news of you.’

  ‘Oh!’ She was surprised that he remembered her. ‘No, I’ve come home for Christmas and I’m appearing at the Grand Theatre, in pantomime.’

  ‘My,’ he said, handing her into the cab. ‘We’ll have to have a penn’orth o’ that. I’ve not been yet. They say it’s one of ’best theatres in ’country.’

  She shook the creases out of her skirt and adjusted her fur hat, which was trimmed with velvet. She was wearing a navy wool jacket which had belonged to her mother and carried a fur muff.

  The cab drew up at the shop and eagerly she peered inside to see if her father was there. But disappointingly, Albert was the only person she could see, and there were no customers inside. The driver handed down her trunk but she didn’t wait for him to help her. She lifted her skirt and stepped down onto the footpath. She thanked him and paid him, and he tipped his cap before driving on as she turned to the door.

  ‘Hello, Albert,’ she called cheerfully, determined that neither he nor Lena would spoil her homecoming. ‘Where’s Pa?’

  Albert stared open-mouthed. Then he licked his lips. ‘He’s in bed,’ he said thickly. ‘He’s not been well.’

  ‘Oh no!’ She was immediately worried. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  He shrugged. ‘He’s been sick. Something he ate, the doctor said.’ He looked at her. ‘Is he expecting you?’

  She gave a short laugh. ‘No! But this is my home.’ Then she asked, ‘Would you mind helping me in with my trunk? I can’t lift it by myself.’

  He came round the counter and she noticed that the door to the medication cupboard was slightly ajar. He pulled the trunk into the shop and straightened up. ‘Looks as if you’re staying for a bit?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am. I’m appearing in the pantomime at the Grand. You say that my father’s in bed? I’d better go up. Where’s Lena?’

  ‘She had to go out. She’s had to do the ordering and the banking and things while your pa’s been laid up.’ Albert shuffled his feet whilst he was talking and occasionally glanced up at the cupboard. ‘We’ve had to manage as best we could.’

  ‘You’re not very busy, though,’ she commented. ‘The coffee shop is usually full at this time.’ She looked round. The tables had cloths on them but were not set with cutlery or flowers as they always used to be.

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Folks don’t seem to be coming in.’

  ‘I’ll go up then,’ she said. ‘Will the trunk be in the way?’

  He said that he would bring it through into the kitchen and she thanked him politely and went into the private quarters. The fire in the kitchen range was low and the room seemed gloomy. She reached for a match from the mantelpiece to light the gas lamp. One of the mantles ha
d a hole in it and it pop-popped, so she turned to the oil lamp which was always kept on the dresser and lit that instead, turning it up so that there was a warm glow in the room. Then she turned to the stairs door and went quietly upstairs.

  ‘Pa,’ she whispered. ‘Are you asleep?’ Her heart gave a sudden lurch when she saw his hunched form beneath the covers and she was reminded forcibly of when her mother was ill in this same bed. Hot tears sprang to her eyes. What would she do if her father should die? How would she ever bear it?

  ‘Papa!’ she said, more urgently, and she heard a sigh and saw a slight movement. She came nearer the bed. ‘It’s me! Poppy.’

  He turned over and put one arm above the coverlet. ‘Poppy! Am I dreaming?’

  There was no lamp lit and only a grey light coming in from the window, but she saw his pale face and reddened eyes. ‘You’re ill,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you send for me?’

  He struggled to sit up. Beads of sweat were on his forehead, his chin was bristly and his hair stood on end. ‘I’ve onny been sick for a few days, and besides, I wouldn’t have bothered you.’ She reached to hold his hand but he pulled it away. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘In case it’s something catching. Lena said it might be. What’re you doing here?’ He licked his dry lips and she glanced at the empty water glass on the bedside table. ‘Oh,’ he sighed. ‘I’m so glad to see you, Poppy. I can’t tell you how glad.’

  She opened a window, for the room smelt stale, and then went downstairs to fetch a bowl of warm water for him to wash with, and a jug of cold for him to drink. She poured him a glass and sat on the side of the bed whilst he drank thirstily.

  ‘I’ve been gasping for a drink since dinnertime,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I hadn’t ‘strength to get up. I called for Lena but she didn’t hear me. She must be busy in ’shop.’

  ‘She’s out,’ Poppy said. ‘Albert said she’s had to see to the ordering and banking whilst you’ve been ill.’

  He turned a puzzled frown towards her. ‘I’ve not been ill that long. There can’t have been over-much to do.’ He gave a weak grin. ‘I feel better already now that you’re home. Have you come for Christmas?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘I have, and listen to this! I’m going to be in the pantomime at the new Grand Theatre and Opera House!’

  ‘At ’Grand! Why, that’s grand!’ He gave another grin. ‘Champion!’

  ‘Have you had anything to eat?’ she asked. ‘Could you manage something light?’

  He hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. Doctor came and he said I’d eaten something that was off, though Lena swears that I’ve caught an infection from somebody.’ He shook his head. ‘I reckon it was that joint o’ pork. I don’t think she’d cooked it enough.’

  ‘Let me make you some gruel,’ she said. ‘That’s what Ma used to give Tommy or me if we were sick.’

  ‘She did, didn’t she?’ he said pensively. ‘I still miss her, you know, Poppy. Three years, and I still reach out for her in bed every morning.’ She saw tears flood his eyes and she reached for his hand and this time he didn’t pull away.

  ‘I know,’ she said huskily. ‘I do know.’

  She put the bowl of water by his bed and left him to wash and shave, and went downstairs. She had taken off her jacket and washed her hands, but still had her hat on as she stirred the gruel, when Lena came in.

  ‘Well,’ Lena acknowledged her. ‘Never expected to see you so soon! Had enough of treading the boards, have you? I suppose it’s not the same away from home where nobody knows you? You won’t have had the same acclaim?’

  Poppy glanced at her. She looks slovenly, she thought. Whatever made Pa take her on? Surely there must have been other bakers. Or did she catch him at his most vulnerable after her mother had died?

  ‘I’ve had a very successful season, thank you,’ she answered calmly. ‘And I have another engagement here in Hull.’ She wondered why Albert hadn’t told his mother, but perhaps he hadn’t thought it mattered. ‘What do you think made my father ill?’ she asked. ‘He doesn’t seem at all well. He’s lost weight.’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Lena answered casually. ‘It’s not something he ate as he seems to think, cos I ate the same. I reckon he’s picked up a contagion from somebody. There’s all sorts of things going about.’

  ‘Are there? I didn’t know. Perhaps we should ask Nan to give everything a good scrub with carbolic!’

  ‘Nan isn’t working here any more.’ There was a hint of defiance in her voice, a warning against Poppy’s challenging her authority. ‘She left.’

  ‘No!’ Poppy was incredulous. ‘Why?’

  ‘She wanted to leave.’ Lena’s mouth turned down. ‘She told your father she was leaving and went the same day. Didn’t even work a week’s notice, which in view of the length of time she’s worked here, I thought was very paltry. Just left us in the lurch.’ She folded her arms in front of her. ‘I’ve not found anybody to take her place as yet, but I’m asking around. At the moment I’m doing everything. Baking, cleaning, and Albert’s looking after the shop.’

  ‘What about the coffee house?’ Poppy frowned. There was too much to do for two people, though she hoped her father would soon be up and about.

  ‘We don’t seem to be doing much there. I’ve stopped baking cakes, doesn’t seem worthwhile, so I’m just offering coffee and biscuits.’

  ‘Oh.’ Poppy paused with the spoon in her hand. ‘But Mazzini’s was known for its cakes!’

  ‘Can’t be helped.’ Lena was dismissive. ‘I’ve only got one pair of hands.’

  ‘Pa! Why did Nan leave? I can’t believe that she just walked out as Lena said.’ Poppy placed the tray with the dish of gruel on his lap, and then plumped up his pillows.

  ‘She and Lena didn’t get on,’ her father said wearily. ‘And it just came to the crunch. I said I’d had enough of them arguing and Nan said she was leaving, and it was best if she went straight away. I was feeling ill on the day she left or I might have found some solution.’

  ‘Like sacking Lena,’ Poppy said bitterly.

  ‘And then Albert would have gone too and I would have had to shut up ’shop. I was too ill to manage on my own.’

  ‘Lena said she isn’t baking cakes any more. Could we get another baker to supply us?’ Poppy’s forehead creased. ‘We can’t have a coffee shop without cakes!’

  ‘Don’t you worry about it, Poppy. I’ll sort things out when I’m up and about.’ He spooned the gruel into his mouth. ‘But that’s enough about ’shop. Tell me about ’pantomime. When do you start?’

  ‘I’m to go in tomorrow to meet John Hart, or Fred Vine if he’s arrived. They’re producing it. It’s Aladdin, by the way.’ She smiled. ‘And I’m going to be the Good Spirit of the Pantomime. At least, I hope so. Dan Damone was a little vague about it.’

  ‘Is he a good agent?’ Her father finished off the bowl of gruel and sat back on the pillows, satisfied.

  ‘Yes. I trust him. And he’s come up with a suggestion for me. He doesn’t think, and I agree with him, that I’m a suitable type for the music hall.’

  As she told her father what Dan had said, she reasoned that if his business wasn’t doing well, she definitely couldn’t ask him to pay for singing lessons. I’ll take the engagements in London, she mused. There are lots of small theatres that would probably have me as a fill-in act. I shall pay for the coach myself.

  ‘A singing coach?’ Joshua repeated. ‘And where will that lead you? Where will you sing then?’

  ‘Theatres,’ she said. ‘Or pantomimes like the one at the Grand. I think Dan has offered me this engagement to see how I like it.’

  ‘But pantomimes are onny a short season! What will you do for ’rest of ’year?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she confessed. ‘Perhaps I’ll work as a single performer, or in operettas – not grand opera,’ she added hastily. ‘I haven’t got the voice for that.’

  ‘So you’ll be guided by this coach, will you?’ he asked. ‘Do you know who he is?’

 
‘He’s a she, Pa.’ She smiled. ‘So you don’t need to worry – and it’s Dan Damone’s sister.’

  ‘Ah!’ His face cleared, then he said, ‘I do still worry about you, Poppy. I think of you all by yourself in these unfamiliar places, mixing with I don’t know who!’

  She patted his hand. ‘I have to grow up sometime, Pa. I’m having another birthday in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Grown up!’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘And I suppose you’ll be meeting up with young men and falling in love before we can wink an eye!’

  She smiled. What would her father think if she told him she already loved Charlie? ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose I will.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  When she arrived at the Grand Theatre the next morning she found John Hart in his office. He seemed surprised to see her so soon. ‘We’re still in production with Pepita,’ he said. ‘It’s going very well. Have you seen it?’

  She confessed that she hadn’t, and told him that she had just returned from a season at Brighton. He immediately gave her two complimentary tickets for the comic opera. ‘Another week before Fred Vine and the company arrive, and then we’ll start rehearsals. You’ll be glad of a week off, I expect,’ he added. ‘You’ll have had a busy time in Brighton. Have you enjoyed the experience? I came to see you at the Mechanics. You’ve a lot of talent and it’s good to know that you’re trying out other shows and not just music hall.’

  ‘That’s what my agent says,’ she replied, thanking him for his compliments. ‘He wants me to take further singing lessons.’

  She told him that she would see him the following week and decided that she would put the days to good use. On the way back from the theatre, she went to see Miss Eloise to tell her what she was doing. She was sure she would be interested to know. Miss Eloise was thrilled to hear that she was to be in pantomime.

  ‘It will give you a chance to stretch your voice,’ she said. ‘Aladdin is not quite operetta as Rossini’s Cinderella is, but nevertheless is a good vehicle for a pure voice.’ Poppy explained that she would have only a small part, but Miss Eloise said she would book tickets immediately they came on sale and would buy one for Miss Davina, who was away at present.