Dancing Shoes

by Noel Streatfeild

  “No.”

  “Well, do you know a girl in group one with red hair?” Rachel shook her head. “You wouldn’t. Well, she started it. She came to school one day bringing the most gorgeous little black poodle made of felt, but with all those special bits, like the end of his tail and his trousers, and the top of his head, real fur.”

  Rachel was impressed by that. “She must be awfully rich to buy a toy dog with real fur.”

  “She is, the richest girl in the school. Her father’s a hairdresser.”

  Hilary’s ability to find things out always surprised Rachel. “How d’you know he’s a hairdresser?”

  “I don’t know, I just do. Anyway, her poodle started it, and since then everybody has an animal. Dogs, cats, monkeys, donkeys, all sorts, mostly little and made of felt, though some are velvet or sham fur. If I had pocket money I’d have a little rabbit, and coffee whirls too.”

  Hilary moved away to try another flip-flap. Watching her Rachel had an idea. Suppose she could get some pocket money and used it as a bribe, would that make Hilary work at ballet? Even as she thought about pocket money she knew who would help her to get it. Uncle Tom had said, “Oh dear, if only you had asked me something else.” Well, here was “something else.”

  “Hilary,” she called, “stop doing that. I’ve thought of something.”

  Hilary’s last effort had been the nearest to a flip-flap she had managed so far, and she did not want to stop, so she turned a rather unwilling face to Rachel. “What is it?”

  “I can get you some pocket money.”

  In one bound Hilary was at Rachel’s side. “How?”

  “I shan’t tell you how, because I want me to be the person who gives it to you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s going to be a prize.”

  “What for?”

  “Ballet. If I could promise you pocket money, would you work properly at ballet like Madame Raine made you?”

  They were standing on a path. Hilary scratched up some gravel with her toe. “It’s so boring, all that barre. Musical comedy, tap, and acrobatics are much more fun.”

  “But if you could be a proper ballerina, you’d like that better, you know you would.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if I could just be one, it’s learning to be one I hate.”

  “But you wouldn’t mind the learning so much if you had pocket money.”

  Hilary thought of her morning classes, of Pat saying “Straighten that supporting leg, Hilary.” “Hilary, turn out that thigh.” Of endless pliés, ronds de jambes, battements frappés, and all the rest of the exercises. Then she thought of eating a coffee whirl, and of a little rabbit, perhaps made of velvet, and they won. “All right. I’ll work. How much pocket money?”

  “I don’t know,” said Rachel. “I’ll tell you directly I do.”

  Rachel knocked on the studio door and was glad to hear Uncle Tom shout “Come in.” He was painting the sort of picture he liked painting, or rather he had painted it and was now doing finishing things to it. He looked pleased to see Rachel. “Hullo, my dear. Come in.”

  It seemed to Rachel rude to ask about pocket money straight away, so she had a look at the picture. It was even odder than the park one. At first Rachel thought it was just a sort of colored pattern, then it began to divide up and she saw shapes that were meant to be people dancing. In the background, what she had thought was a black-and-white pattern became a band of musicians.

  “Is it a party?” she asked.

  Uncle Tom held up his thumb and, shutting one eye, stared across it at his picture. “Sort of, it’s a dance club.”

  Now that Rachel could see that the shapes were people she noticed they were dancing in a very gay way. “Would you call that musical comedy dancing?”

  Uncle Tom put his arm round her. “Rougher than that. How’s your dancing getting on?”

  Rachel liked the feel of his arm, and she leaned against him. “I’ll never make a dancer. Quite truthfully, I’m not cut out for it. But I’m better than I was.”

  Uncle Tom hugged her to him. “Poor old lady. How’s Hilary doing?”

  Rachel pulled away from him. “It’s her I came to see you about. You remember you said you couldn’t interfere about her dancing.”

  He nodded. “I did and I meant it. I can’t.”

  Rachel looked up at him earnestly. “But do you think you could about pocket money? I mean, could you arrange that I had a little of the money I’ll have when I grow up, each week?”

  Uncle Tom sat down in a big armchair and pulled her onto his knee. “I’m sure I could. But I can see there’s something behind that question. What is it?”

  Out came the whole story. It had been bottled up in Rachel so long it was rather like water coming with a burst out of a tap that has been stopped up. About Hilary’s mother having been a dancer. The teacher who had taken Hilary to Madame Raine. How Madame Raine had given Hilary a half-hour lesson every day for nothing. How she had said her reward would be seeing Hilary dance at Covent Garden. How her mother had said however poor they were the one thing they would never give up was Hilary’s ballet lessons. The last bit was difficult to tell anyone. “The doctor who looked after Mummie said she sent me a message. It was that I was to see Hilary went on with dancing lessons.”

  Uncle Tom played gently with one of Rachel’s plaits. “I expect I’m a silly old uncle, but surely Hilary is learning to dance.”

  Rachel struggled to find simple words to make him see. “Acrobatics, musical comedy, and tap aren’t the sort of dancing Mummie meant. But she does have proper ballet lessons too, every day. Really proper ones. I watched once.”

  Uncle Tom was puzzled. “One ballet lesson isn’t enough?”

  “It’s not that, it’s Hilary. She doesn’t bother with ballet much. She likes tap, acrobatics, and musical comedy better. But she wants pocket money, and if I had some I could bribe her to work at ballet.”

  Uncle Tom understood at last. “So that’s it. I don’t know anything about ballet, but if I were you I wouldn’t forget the proverb ‘You can lead a horse to water but you cannot make him drink.’ ”

  Rachel would not listen. “Hilary’s got to be a ballerina, absolutely got to! Mummie wanted her to be one.”

  Uncle Tom saw that he could not talk Rachel out of believing it was her duty to plan for Hilary. “Have it your own way. How much pocket money do you want?”

  “I think, from what Hilary said, that some of the Wonders get a great deal…as much perhaps as two-and-sixpence a week.”

  “Is that all? I’m not a rich man, but I can manage that much. What about you? You’ll want pocket money too.”

  “No, thank you, not at present anyway, and Hilary’s will have to be a secret.”

  Uncle Tom understood that. “Of course. Now, here’s the arrangement. I’ll give you secretly half-a-crown each Saturday, which you can pass on to Hilary if she works. If you want any extra money for yourself you’ll come and ask for it. How’s that?”

  Rachel flung her arms around his neck. “Thank you. You’re a most gorgeously understanding person.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Summer Term

  The pocket money idea was a good one. Nothing could make Hilary into a hard worker, but for her she worked hard, and so of course her ballet dancing improved. But, though Rachel did not know it, so were her acrobatics, tap, and musical comedy dancing improving. And Hilary was working hard at these, not for pocket money but because to her learning that sort of dancing was not only fun but could lead to an ambition she was hiding from Rachel. It was to join a troupe the moment she was old enough to have a license.

  That summer three troupes were working. Hilary and Rachel were looking out of their bedroom window when the twenty-six Wonders who were going to Blackpool—twenty-four dancers and two understudies—got into the coa
ch that was driving them to the station.

  “Lucky beasts,” said Hilary. “I wish it was me.”

  Rachel was looking at the Blackpool Wonders with horror. She turned a shocked face to Hilary. “You couldn’t want to be one of them, you couldn’t!”

  Hilary secretly thought the Wonders looked rather nice. The little-girl frocks were pale blue, over their arms they each carried a bright blue summer overcoat, and on each head was the sort of white cap American sailors wear, with the initials “W.W.” on the front of them. “It’s more fun being them than being us. I’d like to go to Blackpool.”

  Rachel spoke fiercely. “You mustn’t think like that, ever, ever, ever. You’re going to dance at Covent Garden.”

  Hilary looked wistfully at the bus. The last of the Wonders had climbed in and the conductor was shutting the door. “Anyway I wish I was twelve and old enough to have a license. I hate doing nothing but learn.”

  Dulcie, standing by the front door beside her mother, and waving a condescending good-by to the Wonders and their matrons, was saying much the same things as Hilary. “Oh, Mum, I wish I was twelve and going with them.”

  Mrs. Wintle was as shocked as Rachel had been. “I quite understand you wanting to be twelve, but mother’s girl won’t be joining any troupe. Mum has bigger ideas than that for her.”

  “Will I be dressed as a Wonder?”

  What Dulcie would wear when she was a Wonder was something about which Mrs. Wintle had thought quite a lot. Dressing all the children alike was a splendid advertisement, but should Dulcie be dressed like the others? Wouldn’t it suggest she was just one of the school instead of a brilliant little star in the making? “Mum hasn’t decided that yet, darling. Perhaps something like the others, so that it shows you belong to the school. But a rather special little girl must have rather special clothes, don’t you think?”

  Dulcie had a faint feeling of jealousy for Hilary. Ballet was only a side line, but it was annoying that somebody younger than she was should be ahead of her at any form of dancing. And it was no good pretending Hilary was not ahead of her at ballet, for Hilary was wearing block shoes, which Pat said she would not be ready for until the autumn. “Will Hilary wear something special too, if she gets solos?”

  Mrs. Wintle had not made up her mind about Hilary either. Of course it would be nice for the school if Hilary’s dancing was good enough to get her a principal part, but on the other hand she didn’t want any child stealing the limelight from Dulcie. “There’s no need to think about that yet. Hilary will start in a troupe, which Mum’s own girlie will not.”

  Dulcie giggled. “Imagine when Rachel’s twelve! Think of her in one of those white hats. Won’t she look funny, Mum?”

  Mrs. Wintle thought of Rachel’s pale face, odd-looking high cheekbones, and ugly plaits. It was, to her, an unattractive picture. “I will have to do something about her before then. She won’t be twelve for a year and a half. Perhaps her hair would look better permed. Or I might bleach it—fair hair can be striking with brown eyes—but she’s the most unattractive child I ever trained.”

  Mrs. Storm did not think Rachel the most unattractive child she had ever taught. In fact, as the summer term passed, she found she began to admire her.

  “It’s such an unusual little face,” she told her husband. “She’s got more color now, and lost the spots she had when she came to me, and when she’s interested she lights up all over.”

  Mrs. Storm was the only teacher in the school who had a chance to see Rachel lighting up all over. Rachel liked both Pat and Ena, and did her best to work well for them, but it is difficult to look happy when you are thinking hard about something you do not like doing.

  There was no anxious frown to spoil the Rachel Mrs. Storm saw, for she liked lessons and really loved the acting classes, which was more than could be said for Dulcie or Hilary.

  To Hilary learning anything by heart was work which she detested. Dulcie did not mind learning words by heart, in fact it was no trouble to her. But her acting classes were a labor because her way of saying anything out loud was the exact opposite of how Mrs. Storm thought she ought to sound. Hilary, who though she was slow at learning words was good at making them up, made the girls in group two roll about with laughter when she imitated Dulcie. Mrs. Storm was teaching the children scenes from Alice in Wonderland and A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  “Here’s Dulcie,” Hilary would say, “first being Alice talking to the caterpillar, and then being the caterpillar talking to Alice, then being Puck. ‘Who are you?’ the caterpillar says. Then Dulcie steps forward like this, as if she was going to dance a solo, and says in her fancy-ish way: ‘I don’t know, not just at present. I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I’ve changed lots of times since then.’

  “Now this is her being the caterpillar. ‘What d’you mean by that, explain yourself.’

  “Then this is her being Puck. ‘What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here, so near the cradle of our fairy queen? What, a play going on? I’ll be an auditor, an actor too perhaps, if I see cause.’ ” Although Hilary got some of the words wrong, it was no wonder the girls laughed, for though Hilary exaggerated Dulcie, she did sound like her, and made Dulcie say all the parts exactly alike. The truth was that since she was a baby Dulcie had been brought up to know she was a very clever, unusual little girl. And because this was what she thought, it came out in her voice, which, though Hilary called it fancy-ish, Pat and Ena described as affected, and Mrs. Storm as dreadful.

  It was on a day when they were working at A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Mrs. Storm had an idea. They were acting the scene in the wood, where Oberon and Titania quarrel. Hilary was Puck, Mrs. Storm read the fairy, Dulcie was Oberon, and Rachel Titania. Hilary made rather a nice Puck, and Mrs. Storm, who loved Shakespeare, settled back happily to enjoy the rest of the scene. But Dulcie’s first words sent shivers down her spine. There was no attempt at a proud fairy king, just the usual Dulcie saying in her rather high, pleased-with-yourself voice: “ ‘Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.’ ”

  Mrs. Storm was going to stop the scene and take Dulcie through her lines again when she found she had ceased being aggravated by Dulcie and was instead really listening to and enjoying Rachel. Of course Rachel was only a little girl reciting verse, but—and this was what suddenly struck Mrs. Storm—she could speak verse keeping both the sense and the rhythm, and she could forget she was Rachel. “She’s enjoying herself, bless her,” she thought. “And if she enjoys it, why shouldn’t she have more of it?”

  When the moment came for Titania to sweep off the stage, followed by her fairies, and before the scene between Puck and Oberon, Mrs. Storm said: “That was very nice indeed, Rachel. You almost persuaded me the schoolroom was gone and that we were in a wood near Athens.”

  Dulcie did not like that. “You seem to forget that half the scene was me being Oberon.”

  Mrs. Storm wanted to say “The scene was half you all right, though there was no Oberon.” But it was a waste of time, for Dulcie would not understand what she meant. So instead she said: “No, I didn’t forget, but Rachel was the one who made me feel I was in a fairy wood. Now let’s see if you and Hilary can give me the same feeling.”

  After lessons Mrs. Storm told Rachel to wait behind. When the door had closed behind the other two, she said: “I was thinking that as you like acting it would be a good idea if you learned extra elocution for me while the other two are dancing in the mornings. I think, if I tried, I might manage to get in by ten and work at the parts with you.”

  Mrs. Storm did not say that learning extra parts in the mornings was a secret between her and Rachel, but somehow it became one. Rachel did tell Hilary, but Hilary only said: “Oh, my goodness, how awful for you. I wouldn’t wonder if she made you learn that awful Rosalind or one of those.” Then she forgot that Rachel had told her.

  Learning
extra elocution was not the sort of thing you talked to Pursey about. Food, clothes, and the children she had been nurse to were Pursey’s subjects. But Rachel did say to her at one of their after-lunch talks: “I’m learning the ‘Make-me-a-willow-cabin’ speech as homework.”

  But Pursey only answered: “And very nice I’m sure, my lambkin, and talking of making, I’ll have to be cutting out a new ballet tunic for Hilary, that pink one she brought from Folkestone is a rag.”

  Pat and Ena never thought of anything but dancing, and Wanda and Yolanta were not interested in what the children learned. Rachel never spoke to Aunt Cora if she could help it, so that only left Uncle Tom. Actually he would have been interested, but Rachel did not know that, and in her busy life she hardly saw him. So quite by accident the extra elocution was a secret, and, though neither Mrs. Storm nor Rachel guessed it, a very important one.

  CHAPTER 12

  Summer Holidays’ Plans

  It was Mrs. Wintle’s custom during the summer holidays to visit the towns where her Wonders were performing. Naturally Dulcie went too, and so did Pursey. Sometimes Uncle Tom started with them, but he usually left them to wander off alone with his sketch book. That summer, of course, there were Rachel and Hilary to be thought about. Dulcie was the first to speak about them.

  “Mum,” she asked one morning, after her dancing lesson, “do Rachel and Hilary have to come with us when we go away?”

  Mrs. Wintle had been puzzling over the same problem. She knew, because they had written to say so when Rachel and Hilary had first come to live with her, that both the doctor and Madame Raine would like the children to stay with them at Folkestone. But she was not sure it would be a good idea. She had got Hilary training as a Little Wonder, and she did not want that silly talk about The Royal Ballet School starting again. But she had been thinking of writing to the doctor to ask if he would like to have Rachel to stay for a week or two. “I expect we’ll take Hilary. It’ll be nice for you to have her to do things with.”